Breakdown
by FrozenPhantasm
Summary: After rejecting Healy, Red makes an impulsive decision that permanently changes their relationship. Not a songfic, but it was inspired by "Breakdown" by Tom Petty, hence the title. Set during the last few minutes of the Season 3 finale and beyond. Possible Season 3 spoilers.
1. Chapter 1

Description: After rejecting Healy, Red makes an impulsive decision that irreversibly changes their relationship. Not a songfic, but it was inspired by "Breakdown" by Tom Petty, hence the title.

Set during the last few minutes of the Season 3 finale, possible Season 3 spoilers.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters or any of the OITNB plot points referenced in this story. They are the property of Netflix and Jenji Kohan. I write fanfic for funsies, not monies.

Breakdown

With Norma's hand comfortably encased in her own, Red stared out at the women playing in the lake. She resisted the urge to smile, always careful to keep her fierce, severe mask from slipping. In spite of herself, she felt the corners of her mouth begin to tug upwards—what she was witnessing was a celebration of life; for many of these women, it was the only time they'd been allowed to feel alive since they were processed into this shithole.

Red herself felt her heart leap, her throbbing pulse announcing that she, too, was alive, despite her best efforts to brick herself up in a self-constructed prison of denial and let her soul slowly suffocate there. She swallowed around the lump that had become a permanent fixture in her throat ever since she had put her hastily-constructed flower bracelet in his hand and walked away from him. "Our ships passed too late in the night for one of them to change course." She turned the words over in her mind, replaying the way his face had fallen as she said them, allowing herself to feel the pain that she had tried to block out since the incident. Impulsively, she squeezed Norma's hand, and the other woman turned to look at her. Red was the last person to believe in the "powers" that the most ignorant among her fellow prisoners ascribed to Norma, but she took the meaningful look that her friend gave her as one of understanding and affirmation, encouragement, even.

Red turned her head back to the women reveling in their momentary freedom, reflected that, although she was outside of the bars, out in the open air, she still wasn't free. She turned back to Norma, patted her friend's hand, and then dropped it. She ignored the ache in her lower back as she stood up and headed in the direction she had come from. _God, I must be crazy_ , she thought to herself, _walking back into prison…of my own free will_. She slid her shoes back on when her feet touched the grass, and then hurried across the yard, back into the building.

Once inside, she made her way to her intended destination on autopilot. After more than a decade, she could find his office blindfolded. Her hand hesitated above the doorknob for a split second, but her determination won out over her nerves, and she grabbed the handle, opening the door and storming in as she had done so many times in the past. At the sound of the door closing, Healy looked up from his computer, his eyes registering shock at seeing her standing there, her skin flushed and eyes flashing with an unfamiliar light.

He said her name—no, her nickname—but instead of responding, she crossed the room quickly, coming to stand in front of him. She leaned over him, placed one hand on each arm of his chair, and bent down until her eyes were level with his and he could feel her breath, hot and sweet, on his face. Now that she stood before him, Red felt her courage wavering, and she began to chide herself for her foolishness. She had been so determined when she entered the room, but now she hadn't the first clue what to do. It had been so long, so maddeningly long, since she had done anything remotely like this, and, now that the promise of intimacy was before her, she found herself frozen in the face of it.

He must have sensed her apprehension or, at the very least, read it in the quivering of her lower lip and the trembling of her hands on his chair. His own hands came up to grasp each of hers, and, as he looked into her eyes, he whispered her name, her proper name: "Galina."

Her name on his lips shook her to the core, and Red surged forward, capturing his mouth with her own. Her knees buckled slightly; whether it was because of the foreign sensation of contact or the strain on her back from the awkward angle, she didn't know. His hands left hers, arms sliding around her waist, and his body gently pushed hers up to a standing position, pulling her hard against him as his tongue dipped into her mouth. Red gasped at the feel of his tongue sliding over her teeth, but then desire took over and her own tongue brushed against his, shyly at first, and then with passion.

"Oh, Sam," she breathed when they finally broke apart and he rested his forehead against hers.

"Galina, I…" Red silenced him with a swift press of her lips to his.

"No," she said, reaching up to cup his cheek in her hand, "Don't talk." She kissed him again, slowly, softly, knowing that if she allowed him to speak now, he would make some wildly romantic declaration of undying fidelity, and his overtures and the time it took her overstimulated brain to process them would bring her back to reality and kill the mood. For now, she only wanted to feel, to be foolish and reckless, to love and be loved back. Who knew when she would ever have this chance again?

He kissed her back eagerly, one of his hands tangling in her hair and the other stroking lightly along the small of her back. His touches electrified her. Red pulled away from him, backing up the few steps that it took her to reach his desk. Gazing purposefully into his eyes, she lifted herself up to sit in the space between his computer and the edge of the desk, grabbing his hands and moving them to her hips, which he eagerly explored before moving his touches upwards, brushing against her sides and sending shivers throughout her body. As he did this, his lips roamed from her mouth to her cheeks, then down to her neck. She let out a primal moan when she felt his tongue at the juncture between her earlobe and her jaw.

"Oh, yes," Red sighed, bringing her legs up to wrap around his waist, "yes, _dorogay moy_ , touch me, yes, yes."

He had just gathered the courage to lightly palm one of Red's breasts when she suddenly pulled away, her eyes wide open and registering not desire, but shock. Briefly, Healy wondered what it was that he had done wrong, but then he, too, heard the noise that Red's sharper, more attuned ears had picked up on. Footsteps, the squeak of shoes against the linoleum floor, heading straight for the office where he, a federal corrections officer, was currently feeling up one of the inmates under his care like a teenage boy in the backseat of a car.

Red pushed him away, a bit more harshly than she had intended, and jumped down from his desk.

"I'm telling you, Healy, it's fucking broken!" she suddenly barked, "How do you expect me to serve that pre-packaged pig slop if I can't even use my steamer to heat it up?"

Healy recovered his wits just as the door opened and a very enraged Caputo burst through, yelling his name in frustration.

"I don't know what you want me to do, Red," he said tersely, "You got a brand new refrigerator not even six months ago; now you want the Federal Department of Corrections to buy you more kitchen appliances? You think the DOC is made of money?"

"Inmate Reznikov!" Caputo thundered from the doorway, "Get back to your bunk right the fuck now! Healy, I got a situation I need help with. Now!"

Hesitantly, Healy turned away from the woman whom, just seconds ago, he had been ready to ravish on top of his desk. Playing along with their necessary ruse, Red shot one of her trademark withering glances at Caputo, and then followed both of the men out of Healy's office, yelling at their retreating backs. "This isn't over, Healy!" she said, her voice breaking as he disappeared down the corridor. Once he was out of sight, she turned around to return to her bunk, only allowing a stray tear to slip down her face because there was no one around to see her.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: Yay, chapter 2! Everyone who's been reading will be happy to know that I'll probably update pretty frequently and quickly; I have most of the story already written. Also, thanks for the reviews! I appreciate them all, even when they're pointing out mistakes I've made with the Russian (I'm plugging phrases into an online translator, which is probably painfully obvious to anyone who's actually familiar with Russian). Anyway, reviews, favorites and follows are great; keep them coming, and thanks for watering my ego flower. Heh heh heh.

Breakdown

Red shifted restlessly on her cot, turning around to glare at her sleeping bunkie. Piper Chapman's mouth hung open awkwardly, and her breath wheezed as she unconsciously inhaled and exhaled. Chapman's snoring had driven Red round the bend when the girl had first installed herself in Red's cube. It got to the point that the older woman had debated the pros and cons of smothering her bunkmate as she slept. Over time, Red had gotten used to the noise, but tonight, for some reason, it was especially distracting. Red glanced around, her gaze falling on her shoes on the floor, and she briefly considered grabbing one of them and throwing it at Chapman's head.

Instead she took hold of one of her pillows. Holding it to her chest, Red sighed wearily and turned over to face the cinderblock wall. Assaulting her bunkmate would gain her nothing, especially since she knew good and damn well that Chapman's snoring, disgusting as it was, had nothing to do with her restlessness. In truth, she hadn't slept well for almost a month. Not since that day in Healy's office, when she had made what she considered now to be one of the biggest mistakes of her life. She almost laughed at the irony of it. She was incarcerated because of her involvement with the mafia, she had allowed a mob boss to stash God only knew what in the freezer of her quaint little mom-and-pop market, and yet here she was, clutching a pillow to her chest, reflecting on how disappointed she was with herself for kissing a man.

 _Not just kissing_ , Red thought, her cheeks flushing and her stomach flip-flopping. She had been prepared to go so much further. If Caputo hadn't interrupted them, she would have let Healy have her any way he wanted her. Red turned onto her back, throwing her pillow on the floor in frustration. She could feel the heat spreading from her cheeks down to her neck, and she knew that it had nothing to do with the stale, humid air inside of the dormitory.

 _I almost fucked Healy_ , she allowed herself to admit, shaking her head at the ridiculousness of it. This had been her internal struggle in the weeks that had followed their interlude in his office. She could barely understand why she had behaved as impulsively as she did, why the feeling of his mouth and hands on her still lingered even though she had been carefully staying out of his way for weeks. What was it about her middle-aged, overweight and not-conventionally-attractive prison counselor that made her blush like a schoolgirl? Had it really just been too long? Maybe twelve years of forced celibacy had simply turned her into a hormone-crazed animal.

Red rejected that theory, mostly because she wanted to believe that she was a more rational creature than all that. She supposed it had more to do with personality and the camaraderie that had always existed between them. Despite his flaws (and Sam Healy had many), he was a good person. He genuinely cared, and he tried his hardest to be the best man he could be. He wasn't particularly shrewd and he could be a bit naïve, but he was smart, enough that he could keep up with her and stimulate her intellectually without actually exceeding her in intelligence, which Red's domineering nature responded well to.

Furthermore, he treated her with respect, and not in the way that her fellow inmates did. The other women respected her because she terrified them. Healy was slightly afraid of her as well—Red knew this and even reveled in it to some extent. But his trepidation sprung less from a fear of retribution and more from a desire to impress and please her. Red appreciated that, because it meant that he saw her not as another inmate or counselee, not as a responsibility, but as a person, and, as she had realized more recently, as a woman.

It had been so long since anyone had looked at her that way. She had been at Litchfield for twelve years, and even before that, she had lived with a husband who hadn't touched her in forever. Not that he hadn't loved her; she had always known that Dmitri's affection for her was real. But, he had never been a wildly passionate man, and, as the years had gone by and the children arrived one after the other and the market consumed their lives, there had been little time or energy for either of them to focus on anything else. Her marriage, for all intents and purposes, had been over before she had ever been sent to prison.

Red wondered, briefly, if the novelty of having a man actually want her was part of the attraction. Yes, she decided, that was certainly a factor, but there was more to it than that. Sam elicited feelings that she had never had with Dmitri, or any of the other men who had come before him. She genuinely did find him handsome, in his own way, and she enjoyed talking to him. Even if he could sometimes be homophobic and downright misogynistic, he also seemed to be open to new ideas, and receptive when she occasionally challenged his opinions. She suspected that most of his prejudices were not the result of real hatred but rather of a lifetime of rejection and pain. At his base, Sam Healy was a good man, and Red loved him for it, and that was the problem.

She couldn't have a relationship with him, not in the way that she knew they both wanted to. She had been in Litchfield for a lot of years, and she had seen every possible type of relationship between inmates and staff from beginning to inevitable catastrophic end. Even had these kinds of pairings not been highly illegal and perilous for both the prisoner and the staff member involved, the very nature of the system made successful prison partnerships an impossibility, even if real feelings were there.

And then there was the sheer danger of it. If they were ever caught—and they would be, if they allowed themselves to follow the path that she had started them on that day in Healy's office—the consequences for both of them would be dire. He would take most of the heat for it; he would be carted off to a jail cell of his own and left to rot there, and his life would be destroyed beyond repair. Red was a tough woman, and she could be downright rigid and perhaps excessively harsh at times, but she was far from unfeeling, and when she loved, she loved fiercely. She loved Sam Healy, and she knew that seeing his life ruined and knowing that she had been his downfall would break her.

There would also undoubtedly be consequences for her. She had seen women get years added onto their sentences or get thrown in solitary, "for their own protection," for messing around with guards. She had also seen prisoners walk away from these dalliances scot-free; hell, she had even ensured that outcome in helping the Diaz girl. But Red knew that, in a similar situation, she would not be as lucky. For one thing, she was past childbearing age and would certainly not have a pregnancy that she could use to gain sympathy, and there was also the fact that she was no wide-eyed, innocent-looking little girl who could play the victim. She was an old woman who had been around for years and should know better; no one would feel sorry for her. She only had two more years left on her sentence. After the eternity she had already spent in Litchfield, two years should have seemed like nothing, but right now, it felt like forever.

 _Two years_ , she mused silently. Would he be willing to wait that long? Could they wait, even if they wanted to? And, if they did wait, what would the waiting do to them, and would the feelings still be there at the end of it? Red couldn't see her way through this one; she couldn't punch down all the walls and barrel through the way that she normally did, and she hated the uncertainty.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: Chapter 3! At first I wasn't planning on getting into Healy's head; I was only going to use him to support a story about Red, but this chapter just came to me. I hope I've gotten Healy right; I've spent way less time analyzing him than I have Red (because until he got involved with her, I kind of didn't like the dude; Red definitely makes him more worthwhile). Please give me feedback and let me know what you think!

Breakdown

It was 9 o'clock when Healy finally looked up from the paperwork on his desk. He checked the time on his phone. _Jesus_ , he thought, wondering how in the hell he had gotten so engrossed in his work that he hadn't noticed the end of his shift come and go…three hours ago. Normally, he couldn't wait to leave his depressing and soul-sucking job, even if it meant going home to silence and emptiness. He had especially tried to avoid staying any later than necessary over the past month.

At first, he had refused to accept that Red was avoiding him. He specifically sought her out, trying with all his might to get to her to talk to him about that day in the office. When it had become apparent that she would not engage on that topic, he tried to get her to talk to him about anything at all—her kitchen, her ongoing clandestine dinners, the weather. Always he was met with one-word answers; two words if fortune happened to be smiling upon him at the time. She was still civil; she would greet him if they ran into each other in the halls, she didn't ignore him. But he knew that she was purposely staying away. He didn't understand it, and he had given up on trying to get her to help him understand. He had finally accepting that she wasn't going to explain herself to him.

The rejection hurt. After weeks of turning everything over in his mind, Healy was beginning to feel the old bitterness surfacing, the general disdain for women and their foolishness that always followed a failed relationship or rebuffed romantic advances. Adding to his anger over Red's desertion was the fact that he had begun divorce proceedings in earnest. Katya's attempts to play nicely with him had proven to be short-lived and characteristically motivated by greed; she had wanted him not only to help her and her mother get an apartment but, indeed, to put down the entire down payment and take care of the rent, which he had, of course, refused to do. He had offered to help, not to pay for the entire thing. After that, Katya had finally requested the divorce.

Healy had come to the conclusion that his soon-to-be-ex-wife's behavior and that of his would-be Russian paramour simply proved that all women, no matter what their circumstances, were the same. Irrational. Manipulative. Selfish. Wanting nothing from a man but whatever material gain or sexual satisfaction they could wrench from him before fleeing. He had known this about Katya almost from the moment that she had gotten off the plane and stepped hesitantly into his arms. On some level, even below the deep, deep layers of denial that had formed the bedrock of their marriage, Healy had always known that.

However, he hadn't lied to Red when he'd told her that he thought she was different. He had known the Russian woman for twelve years; he knew that she was sneaky and crafty and would go to almost any lengths to get what she wanted. He resented her for it at first—as soon as she had gotten the hang of prison life, she began arguing and scheming her way into getting all kinds of perks, frequently through duping Healy himself. Constantly being beaten by a woman who was obviously cleverer than him had been a huge drain on his ego, initially. Eventually he had adopted the tactic of treating every interaction with Red as though he was being shaken down for something and knew it.

Paradoxically, this had been what allowed them to become something resembling friends. Of course, it hadn't dampened Red's manipulative nature, but it had, Healy thought, earned him a modicum of her respect. After that, she would stop by his office more frequently, and only occasionally did she come to ask for things. Even when she was demanding a new refrigerator or the removal of someone who had offended her from kitchen crew, it wasn't uncommon for her to spend some extra time simply talking to him.

Then there had been the occasional session with Red acting as translator between himself and Katya. Healy knew that Red hated being dragged into his marriage (and, as he realized now, he had dragged her into it). He knew also that she hated being called upon to perform the dual role of translator/marriage counselor, but he was desperate and she was the only person he knew who both spoke Russian and owed him. On some level, he had also looked upon it as a form of retribution for all the times that she had pulled one over on him. After all, in this situation, he had the power to make demands upon her time, because he was the counsellor and she the inmate. It was a small victory, and Healy knew that she still had the upper hand in their relationship, but he enjoyed the fleeting feeling of power.

This time, though, Red had laid him low. She had taken all of the power away from him and claimed it for her own. Healy didn't know when, exactly, he had begun to think of her romantically. He supposed that it had happened gradually, a glacial drift of emotions bringing them slowly towards one another. All that he knew was that he had been besotted. Oh, hell; who was he kidding? He was still head over heels, despite his anger at her and the certainty that the scene in his office was just a move in one of her elaborate games.

He wasn't sure what she was trying to get out of him this time, but he was sure she had some kind of objective. Although it angered him, he couldn't bring himself to be as outraged about it as he should have been. All he wanted was for Red to take him into her arms and say to him, in that sexy, smoky, accented voice that drove him wild, that she loved him. He would give her anything she wanted then; she could tear the heart out of his chest and consume it in front of him, as long as she showed him a little affection. Healy hated knowing this about himself, and he hated Red for having so much sway over him.

Angrily, Healy ripped off his reading glasses and threw them onto the desk. This, he realized, was why he spent so much of his time holed up in his office, staring at intake, release and request forms until all the words blurred together. If he allowed himself time to think about anything besides work, his thoughts always came back to one of two subjects: his gold-digging wife, or her scheming prison counterpart, which forced him to acknowledge that he had been bested, not by one woman, but by two.

Healy grabbed his briefcase and headed out the door of his office, turning his light off as he went. The hallways were empty, silent. It was after hours; all inmates would be in bed by now. _Good_ , he thought. No chance of running into _her_ if she was in her bunk.

He turned his head briefly to look down the hall to where the cafeteria was. This had become habit over the past few weeks; at first he had done it hopefully, expecting to see her entering or exiting, but now it was more like a compulsion, something he didn't want to do but had to. His heart dropped as he realized that there was the faintest glare of light through the windows on the doors. The lights were still off in the cafeteria; the glow was coming from somewhere beyond that. The kitchen, of course. Healy cursed his luck. He could only think of a handful of people who would have the gall to be roaming around the prison after hours and, of those few inmates, only one would go to the kitchen.

He considering just letting it alone, ignoring the obvious violation of the rules and going home. He took one step towards the exit, and then turned around and walked back towards the cafeteria, cursing under his breath. How would it look if Red were discovered, and then someone found out that he had known there was someone in the kitchen but done nothing about it? He would be accused of not doing his job properly, and would likely be chewed out for showing favoritism or simply for being incompetent, and he had already put his job on the line for her more than once. He wasn't willing to do so again. With a heavy sigh, he prepared himself to confront Red.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: Omg shit is getting REAL! So real, in fact, that I just had to post this chapter right now even though it hasn't even been a whole day since I last updated. This is a pretty short chapter, but I hope that the intensity makes up for it.

Also, heads up, guys: the rating for this story will be switching to M soon. Just letting you all know in case you suddenly get on FF one day and you can't find my story with the default search parameters. And, yes, the promise of an M rating does mean that there will be sexy timez; that was always part of the plan. All that's up in the air right now is just how explicit the sexy timez will be.

Breakdown

She didn't look up when he entered the kitchen. She merely continued wiping down the counter that she'd been working on, though he saw her right hand tense around the rag she held, and she attacked the counter as though it were personally responsible for every problem in her life.

"You're out of bounds, inmate," he said.

Red dropped the rag on the counter with more force than necessary, and finally looked at him. He saw anger in her eyes, and struggled to understand why she would be mad at him. He was the one who had the complaint here; she had used him, played him, been all over him one minute and then avoided him the next.

"Give me a shot then." Her voice was cold, more menacing than usual, and she folded her arms across her chest, closing herself off.

Healy reached into the pocket of his shirt, taking out the notepad and pen that all the staff carried specifically for documenting when a prisoner was to be issued a reprimand.

"You're not serious," Red said when he began scribbling on the pad.

"Aren't I?" he asked, not looking up, "I thought this was what we were doing now, Red. Behaving like any other inmate and any other staff member. If that's what you want, then fine by me. But if you want me to treat you like any other lady here, you'll have to stop thinking that you're special and expecting to get away with breaking the rules."

His words would have stung if Red didn't know that he was bluffing, and not very expertly. His eyes gave him away, just as they had every time that she'd caught him looking at her over the last few weeks. Healy's emotions were about as subtle as an atom bomb.

Instead of trying to defuse the situation, Red maintained the cool demeanor that she'd adopted towards him once she had come to the conclusion that she could never have him. Today had been a bad day; the Spanish girls were giving her trouble in her kitchen which, in turn, made her crack down on them harder, being even more severe than she normally was. This, of course, had provoked a response from Gloria, whose peace with Red was fragile enough, and the Russian woman had been forced to employ diplomacy so as not to upset it. This had left Red still in the mood for a fight. Her conflict wasn't with Sam and she didn't particularly want to argue with him, but he was here and it was obvious that he was going to force the issue she had been trying to avoid for so long. It made her uncomfortable, the way displays of emotion always had, and her discomfort infuriated her. Her hackles were already up, and all he was doing was goading her.

She scoffed at Healy and said, "I should have known you'd do this."

"Do what, exactly?"

"Behave like a child," she replied, "Just like you did after I asked for my kitchen back. Look, Healy, I'm sorry that I bruised your ego. I really am, but I thought that my avoiding you would send a clear message. I don't know what more you need from me."

"I need you to fucking _talk to me_!" Healy barked, "About…about that day, about what happens now…"

"Nothing happens now," Red replied calmly, "Nothing can happen, and I don't want to talk about it."

"So that's it? That's all I get from you? No explanation, no resolution, nothing? Don't you think you at least owe me that much?"

"I owe you nothing," she growled.

Red jumped when his fists lashed out and banged heavily upon the counter, making the sound of stricken metal ring through the kitchen.

"You are a manipulative _bitch_ , Red. You only think of yourself and you use people and then throw them away. What were you trying to get out of me this time? Did you think that if you let me bend you over my desk I'd get you a new stove? Maybe you were planning on applying for furlough and wanted to make extra sure your request went through? I was prepared to risk everything for you! My job, my life…"

Her hand shot out, connecting with his face and silencing him. All things considered, the slap wasn't as hard as it could have been; the red mark that it left on his skin would fade quickly, but Healy couldn't have been more surprised if she had pulled out a sharpened toothbrush and shanked him.

"Did you never think of what I would be risking?" Red hissed, "What I would lose matters a hell of a lot more than your fucking job. I have a family, Healy; I've got kids that I didn't get to raise because I was here, kissing your ass in order to get my basic needs met and almost getting killed by a psychopath. And now, I get the pleasure of standing here and listening to you call me a whore. You're like a baby denied the tit, throwing a temper tantrum and disregarding everyone but yourself. Stay the hell away from me."

With that, she turned on her heel and walked away, out of the kitchen and into the cafeteria. Though she kept her steps measured and controlled, she wanted nothing more than to bolt for the door and run to the bathroom so that she could throw herself into a stall and break down in peace.

"Yeah, that's right," he called after her, "Go back to your cube, _Inmate Reznikov_."

Red paused, digging her fingernails into her palms and resisting the urge to march back into the kitchen and kick the crap out of him. Shaking her head, she kept on walking. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her rage and wouldn't risk getting sent to the SHU for assaulting an officer. Healy wasn't worth it. _Fuck him_ , Red thought as she exited the cafeteria.


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Note: A short chapter for you guys, because I'm REALLY busy right now with my work, so finding writing time isn't easy.

Breakdown

Healy sat at his kitchen table, holding a steaming mug of tea and staring blankly at the wall. The liquid in his cup was the same brew that he'd served for Red, that day in his office when he had wanted so much to hear her say that she wanted him, and then been so disappointed when she had asked for her kitchen back insted. He remembered what she said to him after that: "You take away a woman's power…you leave her with one coin…it may be tawdry and demeaning, but she will spend it…"

His anger at her, for starting something that could have been so good and then throwing it away, was still a dull ache in the pit of his stomach. However, in the three days that had elapsed since their fight, Healy had been more preoccupied with mentally beating the shit out of himself for what he had said to her. How could he have been so callous? She was right; he had been so focused on his own hurt feelings and withered "ego flower" that he had failed to take into account the consequences that could arise for her if they were together. He had been aware of them, of course, but he simply, foolishly hadn't applied those rules to their particular situation. After all, he wasn't exploiting her for selfish reasons; his feelings were real. He was certain that hers were as well, and he wasn't forcing her into anything. It was quite the opposite, actually. Healy liked to be in control, but he had never liked being the aggressor in relationships. Red asserted herself and went after what she wanted, and he liked that. He had been so caught up in how much he liked it that he hadn't taken the time to consider why she might be hesitant.

He wished that there were a way for him to tell her that he hadn't meant to be so self-centered. Her feelings and concerns were just as important as his. Possibly more so, because she was in the tougher situation and would have more hurdles to jump in any potential relationship, behind bars or out in the real world. He wanted to communicate to her that his oversight had been the result, not of a disregard for her emotions, but rather of his frenzied need for her, the lovesick madness that she inspired in him. However, he knew that it was impossible now; he had fucked up everything. Red asked him to stay away, indefinitely, and he totally understood why. He had been a grade-A sonofabitch. He emotionally sucker punched her, and he did not deserve her time, or her forgiveness. All that he could do now was respect her wishes and stay out of her way.

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Lost in the haze of his misery, Healy was only vaguely aware that the kitchen had, inexplicably and to the amazement of all the inmates, served a side order of sugar cookies along with the by-now-traditional puddle of oddly-colored dinner slop. He remembered hearing that Gloria had miraculously found an unopened bag of sugar at the back of a pantry, which had then set the rest of the kitchen crew on a mad dash to find the other necessary for a cake or some other confection. Red had procured eggs, and nobody could figure out how she had done it, but nobody cared because the whole prison had been abuzz with the news of something actually edible at dinnertime. As he passed the last of the dinner stragglers in the hall and heard them chattering excitedly about the food, Healy, for the millionth time in the last week, wished that he was still on speaking terms with Red, so that he could ask her how in the hell she had smuggled in eggs.

He trudged down the hall sadly, as had been his habit ever since the fight. All of his fellow officers and even some of the inmates had noticed that he seemed to be grieving something, but luckily for him, the inmates knew better than to ask questions and his coworkers put it down to the divorce, which was, of course, public knowledge at this point. Healy opened the door to his office and stepped inside. He was so lost in thoughts of Red that he had already seated himself and begun shifting through stacks of forms before he noticed the plate in the center of his desk. On it sat two perfect sugar cookies, and there was a bit of paper sticking out from underneath.

His heart skipped a beat, and he frantically grabbed at the paper. There was only one person who would even think to leave treats on his desk and right now, he was much more interested in what she had to say than the baked goods themselves. He opened the note and scanned it quickly, before reading over it again, as if to reassure himself that it was real. The message was only four words long, but it told him all that he needed to know: _Greenhouse. Tomorrow. 2 pm._ It was amazing the effect that such a brief, to-the-point directive could have. For the first time in days, Healy felt a small glimmer of hope and optimism that all was not lost.

He didn't know what Red wanted to say to him, and he knew he'd be up all night trying to figure out what to say to her, but the fact that she was communicating at all was a good thing. It meant that she was ready to hear him, and to make herself heard. He could explain himself to her, he could apologize, get down on his knees and beg her forgiveness if he had to. It meant that everything might not have crumbled to ashes after all.


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Note: Next chapter will be when the switch to M happens, people. Just a warning in advance, for those of you who aren't into that (and a little bit of titillation for those who are).

Breakdown

The sun was at its peak in the sky and the late summer afternoon was broiling. The air inside of the greenhouse was thick and torrid, and Red could feel her clothes clinging to her as she sweated. _This was stupid_ , she thought as she flapped the front of her khaki prison-issue top in an effort to cool down. She was mentally slapping herself for choosing the greenhouse for this rendezvous. She had written Healy the note on an impulse, scribbled it quickly because she knew that if she gave herself time to think about what she was doing, she'd never go through with it. The greenhouse was the most private spot she'd been able to think of. Other inmates were always in and out of his office, and it would look odd if he locked the door. She'd been an idiot for choosing the hottest part of the day, as well, but this was the only time she had available between her shifts in the kitchen and everything else that had to be done.

Red remembered wanting to kick the crap out of Healy as she left the kitchen after their fight. That desire was largely gone, but she really would hunt him down and make him suffer if he stood her up. Standing out here in the enclosed hell of the greenhouse was like punishment for sins she had committed in a past life. _Or maybe in this life_ , Red corrected herself. Lord knows she had done more than her fair share of sinning.

Her reverie was interrupted by the swinging of the door. With slight trepidation, she looked towards the front of the small building. The gardening club didn't use the greenhouse on Tuesdays, and they preferred to do their work in the mornings before the afternoon heat set in. Still, it could have been anybody coming through those doors, and Red was prepared to grab a watering can and make herself look busy if need be.

She relaxed when she saw that it was him. "Healy," she greeted, fighting to keep her voice steady and controlled.

"Red. I…uhh…I got your note."

"Obviously," she replied.

"Yeah," he said, running a nervous hand through his hair, "Obviously."

He stayed on his side of the greenhouse near the door, and she stayed on hers. For several moments, they just stared each other down, appraising one another. He was the one to break the silence.

"Look, Red, I don't…I don't know why you asked me to come; I don't know what you wanted to say to me. But, before anything else gets said, I just want you to know that I'm sorry."

"Okay," Red said coldly.

"No, really, I am. I had no right to speak to you the way I did. I was trying to hurt you, and I wasn't being fair to you. I wasn't even being a decent human being. I want to beg you to forgive me, but I also don't think you should. I don't deserve it."

"Well, you're right about that, Healy," she said, "You don't."

She put her hands in her pockets and walked towards him, stopping halfway and leaning against the wall. "But I wanted to apologize, too. I know I'm not a blameless victim here. You were an asshole, but so was I, and I understand why you were angry."

She leaned against the wall to relieve some of the strain that standing put on her legs and back. Her eyes bounced around the greenhouse, staring at the walls, the plants near the door, the boards on the floor covering the place where her tunnel had once been. Anything to not have to look at him. What she needed to say would take some time and a lot of focus. Partially because they had a lot to talk about, but mostly because Red was terrible at expressing her emotions. It would take her ages to gather the words together, and even longer to force herself to say them.

"I shouldn't have left things as they were after that day in your office. I could see that it was killing you not knowing why. But I just couldn't…it's so hard for me, Sam. I couldn't say it."

"Say what, Red?"

"Anything, really," she replied, and then, after an uncomfortable pause, "I want you to know that I wasn't toying with you. I didn't walk into your office expecting anything in return." She turned her head toward him, saw him blush as a look of shame crossed his eyes. "And I can't fault you for thinking I did, because of the precedent I've set. But I didn't want anything _from_ you. I just wanted _you_."

"I wanted you, too," he said, "I've wanted you for a long time. Much longer than you've wanted me; I know that. I still do."

"I know. But, Sam, we…"

"Do you still want me?" he asked. Red didn't say anything; she only stared at him, trying to think of what to say. "Answer me. Please. Do you want me, Galina?"

Her name again. Hearing him call her by her name was what broke her down.

"Yes," she whispered, sighing deeply as she admitted it, for the first time, out loud. He took her hand and enfolded it in his own.

She allowed him to hold her hand, giving his a slight squeeze, but she felt compelled to point out what had been on her mind for weeks. "Sam," she said, "We can't. You and I…there can't _be_ any you and I. You know why."

He did. Ordinarily, he respected the DOC and the laws against inmate/staff relations. He recognized that those laws were there for a reason, and that, in most cases, they were necessary. But he and Galina, they weren't a typical case, and right now he hated the rules that kept them apart with every fiber of his being.

"I know. But I can't help it. You're all I think about. You're all I want. _Ya tebya lyublyu_ , Galina."

She wrenched her hand from his and jumped back as if stricken. "No, you don't!" she whispered fiercely, "Don't say that to me!"

She stalked over to one of the tables, fingering the leaves on a small succulent, avoiding his gaze.

"It's true," he protested, coming to stand beside her.

"You can't say that to me, Sam. You can't feel that way. I can't say it back." It was true; she couldn't. Not because she didn't feel it, but because it would be irreversible. Saying the words would make the feelings real, and then she would have to act on them, because they had already come so far, and she wouldn't be able to bear having to push him away again.

"I know you can't. I don't expect you to." He recaptured her hand, raising it to his lips, kissing the palm, then the wrist, then the back, and then each finger in succession. Red shivered with pleasure while simultaneously whispering her protest.

" _Nyet_ ," she said, weakly, as he pulled her into his arms. She continued whispering " _nyet_ , _nyet_ ," even as she put her arms around him and melted into his embrace.

He dropped his face to her hair, breathing her in as his hands stroked up and down her back. He could smell the faintly floral scent of her shampoo, and the kitchen spices and, beneath all of that, the deep, earthy fragrance of her skin.

"Two years," she said, her voice muffled by his shirt.

"Hmm?" he asked.

"I have two years left on my sentence," she clarified.

"Are you worried that I'm going to go somewhere in that timespan?"

She looked up into his face. "Shit happens, Sam. Things change, people change, people leave. It happens all the time. And it's a dangerous game that we're playing here. Nobody can ever know. I can't ask you to deal with that for such a long time."

"Then don't ask," he said, kissing her forehead, "You don't have to, because I'm telling you that I will. We'll do what we have to do until you're out, and then we'll scream it from the rooftops."

She chuckled. "You're such a romantic, Sam. You have so much faith in things. Sometimes I wish I could be like that." She put her arms around his neck, standing on the tips of her toes to kiss him. Their lips met eagerly, and she wasted no time in deepening the kiss, moaning as she felt his tongue move against hers. As Healy kissed her, Red allowed herself to get lost in the taste of him, memorizing the flavor of his mouth so that she could remember it in those times—and she knew that they would come—when she was driven crazy with desire but couldn't go to him because of the danger of detection. As his hands traveled up to cup her face, she forced those thoughts from her mind. She was here with him now. For the moment, that was all that mattered.


	7. Chapter 7

Author's Note: I'm kind of nervous about how this chapter's going to be received, because sex, and stuff.

Breakdown

They were both panting when they broke the kiss. Red looked into Healy's eyes for a moment, and then he saw something shift behind her blue orbs, as though she had just made a decision. He protested when she disengaged from him and headed towards the greenhouse door, afraid that she had changed her mind, that she would walk out now and be lost to him forever. Instead, she made sure the door was securely closed and then bolted it before returning to his embrace.

"Galina?" he asked, his heart skipping a beat. She gave him a small smile.

"Don't get too excited, Healy," she said, "I just wanted to make sure we're not interrupted." She wound her arms around his waist, then stretched her legs until her mouth was level with his ear.

"I like holding onto you, and I have no intention of letting you go any time soon," she whispered. Then her tongue darted out to playfully trace the shell of his ear before moving on to his neck, just below the earlobe. The contact electrified him, and Healy practically growled with the pleasure of it. He hadn't had the faintest idea that this was a sensitive spot until Galina found it. No other woman had ever taken the time to seek out his erogenous zones. Intimacy for Sam had always felt as though his partner was doing him a favor by letting him touch her; it had been about him trying to bring pleasure to the woman (and usually falling short of the mark), but not being touched in return. After all, he had reasoned, it was so easy for men to take their pleasure from the act, so why should he expect anything extra?

But, as Galina sucked and nipped at the flesh between his neck and shoulder, it felt as though she were opening worlds up before him. Her fingers were on the buttons of his shirt, deftly unfastening them, and then her hands reached in, untucking his undershirt from his uniform pants and venturing under it to tangle in the hair on his chest, touching his skin and blazing trails of fire with her hands.

He captured her face in both of his hands, raising her head so that he could look at her, and the wicked smile playing on her lips almost made him come undone.

"God, woman; you're going to be the death of me," he said, lowering his lips to hers and kissing her fiercely, their tongues dueling at a frenzied pace. As he kissed her, he backed her up against the table. She surprised him when she jumped up onto it and then parted her knees, pulling him in exactly as she had done in his office, that day when she kissed him and kindled the fire that had, up until that point, been merely stray embers.

He had just detached their lips and begun to pepper small but meaningful kisses along her hairline when he felt her hands at his waist, unbuckling his belt and then working on his pants.

He said her name, then reached down to still her hands. She looked up at him, disappointment in her eyes and her lower lip captured between her teeth in an expression of naked vulnerability that made him want to pull her close and keep her in his arms forever.

"Do you…" she said questioningly, her voice deeper, huskier, sexier than usual, "Do you not want…?"

"No, it's not that," he reassured her, kissing her lightly, "It's just…are you sure? Now? _Here_?"

"Where else?" she asked, "It's not like we're overwhelmed with possibilities." Then, more seriously, "We might not have another chance like this anytime soon, Sam. I want you, and I don't want to wait."

With that, she proceeded to unbutton and unzip him, then tugged his pants and boxers down in one fell swoop. He was still unsure—not of wanting to make love with her; he had wanted that for longer than he could even articulate right now—but of the timing and the place. All protests, however, were driven from his mind when she touched him, her small, soft hand wrapping around the swell of him and effectively silencing any protests. God, it had been so long since a woman had touched him like that, and never the way that she did, with a tenderness that barely disguised her passion.

He was lost to her, and, as if on autopilot, he felt his hands surging forward to fumble with the waistband of her pants. He was much less coordinated than she had been, and he heard her let out a faint, highly-un-Red-like giggle as he somehow managed to get her underwear both stuck up her ass crack and tangled with her pants. She pushed his hands away and did it herself, moving on the table until she was naked from the waist down, spread out in front of him, claiming his mouth as she beckoned him in.

Healy groaned as he sheathed himself within her, feeling Galina around him, warm, wet and so tight that it felt like he had become part of her instead of merely being inside her.

She cried out as he entered, reaching beneath his shirt and digging her nails hard into his back. The momentary flash of pain brought him back to reality, and, when he looked down into her face, he was startled to see that her features were twisted in what looked like agony, her teeth piercing her lip to stop herself from whimpering.

"Oh, God, Galina, I'm sorry," he said, "Did I hurt you?"

"No," she ground out, wincing despite herself. Sam stilled within her, and his hand traced soft, soothing circles on her back. "Yes," she finally admitted, "But it's not your fault. It's just been forever. I just…give me a moment…"

"Do you want to stop?" he asked. Red shook her head.

"Don't you dare," she hissed. And then, she put all thoughts of cessation from his mind as she experimentally rocked her hips, forcing him almost completely out of her before taking him back in again. Despite the overwhelming urge to move, to bend her back completely and take her hard and fast, Sam forced himself to stay still and let her set the pace, slow and gentle at first, and then with mounting passion as she felt the pain subside and give way to pleasure.

"Sam," she moaned, wrapping her legs around his waist, melting the curves of her body into him, "Fuck me."

He eagerly complied, setting a furious pace as desire sparked between them. Her breath came loud and fast, and, despite the fact that they were both acutely aware that they couldn't be too loud, she couldn't stop the moans and gasps that escaped her lips as he drove her wild. In an effort to muffle the noise, she buried her face in the crook of his neck, pressing her lips to his flesh, kissing him and tasting his sweat beneath her tongue. Normally, the buildup of bodily fluids was her least favorite part of sex, but, for some inexplicable reason, with Healy, she found it oddly arousing.

Red's kisses were driving Healy to distraction and, when he felt her bite at him and then suck his skin into her mouth, he couldn't contain himself any longer. He grabbed her hip, stilling her movement and bracing her against him as he came. He remained inside of her for what seemed like an eternity after that, just holding her, feeling her, before finally separating them with a kiss to her forehead and reaching down to the floor for his pants. As much as he wanted to stay with her, entwined in one another, forever, he knew that time was of the essence. Anyone could come banging on the greenhouse door at any time and, if that happened, they would both want to be decent and to have an excuse on hand for why the door was locked…and why they were both sweaty and breathless…and why the air smelled like sex…

When he returned his attention to her, he was surprised to see that she hadn't immediately scrambled to put her clothes back on as he did. She was still half-naked, and she had tears tracing down her cheeks, one hand raised to her eyes to try and dash them away.

"Galina," he said softly, wrapping her up in his arms again, "Galina, what is it?"

"I'm fine," she replied, but the tears on her face betrayed the false bravado in her voice"Just…just ignore me."

"Absolutely not, _solnyshka_." Hearing the Russian endearment on his lips prompted a sob from Red, and Healy internally kicked himself. What if she had begun to regret the sex as soon as it was over? What if she thought that they had made a terrible mistake, or she felt like she had been taken advantage of? "I'm so sorry, Galina. What did I do? Talk to me…please." He was almost panicked now.

"It's nothing you did," she whispered, holding out one of her hands to him. He took it and pressed it, threading their fingers together and feeling the way hers trembled. "It's been so long, that's all. I hadn't been touched in…god, I don't even know…I just…I forgot that I could feel that way…"

She allowed him to slip an arm around her waist, to hold her against him and comfort her. When her crying ceased, he put his forehead against hers.

"So, you…you don't regret it?" he asked. Red understood that he wasn't just posing a question; he was also articulating his worst fear.

"No, not at all," she replied, "You gave me exactly what I wanted. I only regret that, now we've begun, we can't fuck all day, every day."

Her mouth against his was hot, and her kiss was suggestive. He wanted nothing more than to get her going again, but when he pulled back from her, they both knew that it was time to stop. Someone would come looking for Red if she wasn't in her kitchen soon to begin dinner prep, and Sam could only imagine how many inmates might have come knocking at his door in the time he'd been gone.

He bent to pick up Red's discarded pants from the floor, handing her clothes to her as she climbed down from the table and then watching her get dressed.

"You should come to my office soon…to talk," he said.

"Oh yeah? Are you going to counsel me?" she asked playfully. Sam smiled.

"Mm-hmm. I'll counsel you on top of my desk, then up against my bookshelf, and then we can break in my sofa."

Red snorted. "Your tiny little sofa that barely seats the two of us?"

"We're both intelligent human beings; we'll figure something out."

"If you say so, Healy," she said, and then, looking towards the door, "You should probably leave first. It will be much less weird if someone were to find me alone in here."

Sam nodded, scanning himself to make sure he looked presentable, and then casting a sad glance at her as he unlocked the door and disappeared from her sight.

Author's Note: I hope I kept these two in character. I'm pretty sure I got Healy right, because you know he'd super insecure and like a clumsy teenager, but I'm worried about how I've written Red. I realized that I have her crying a lot in this piece, and I don't want to write her as some sappy, weepy romance novel heroine because that's not who she is. But I really do feel like intimacy would be overwhelming and possibly painful for anyone after more than a decade. I had this vision of Red being very aggressive and taking the lead, but also being a little bit fragile because I feel like this would definitely be a situation where she'd feel really vulnerable. Tell me what you think!


	8. Chapter 8

Author's Note: And now we take a break from Red and Healy's whirlwind romance to focus on another Litchfield inmate. Except not really, because this little interlude will directly impact the story. Sorry for the short chapter. I'm soooo busy right now, but I can't stop writing, so I did this both to advance the plot and to satisfy my muse.

Breakdown

Piper Chapman approached the greenhouse, walking as fast as she possibly could without actually breaking into a sprint, since she still had unpleasant memories of the last time she had dared to run in the prison yard. Pornstache wasn't here anymore to yell at her, but still, she had learned that at Litchfield, it was best not to push your luck, at least not with the stupid, everyday stuff. Still, she was bound and determined to catch that chicken.

 _God, I'm just as batshit as Red_ , she thought to herself, keeping the bird in her sight as it headed ever closer to the fence. Her Russian bunkmate was the entire reason that she was chasing after a bird like a psycho in the first place. Red wasn't currently mad at her; on the contrary, she had become a mentor of sorts, since she was the one that Chapman went to with questions about how to run her panty business. The older woman was a wealth of knowledge about all things organized crime, and Chapman could tell that Red got a kick out of being indirectly involved while also getting to watch it all unfold. For whatever reason, Red had decided that Chapman and her little cottage industry amused her.

Still, it was only a matter of time until Chapman did or said something stupid to piss her roomie off. The young woman had long since accepted that she would never be able to stop doing and saying dumb shit to get herself into trouble. But Red would love her forever if she actually managed to catch the chicken, and being able to count on Red's permanent support would make the rest of her stay so much easier.

If Chapman was really honest with herself, she wasn't just chasing the chicken for Red. She was also doing it for herself, for a distraction, an escape. Alex was still in the hospital after having been attacked, and Piper had no clue how she was doing. They got updates infrequently, and, when it did come, the news was always vague. She had been going out of her mind thinking about Alex, and her chicken sighting was a welcome distraction. She chased after it with renewed energy, but slowed when she neared the greenhouse.

Chapman was stopped in her tracks by the sound of low moaning coming from the small building. _Oh, shit_ , she thought to herself. She did _not_ want to stand around listening to what was no doubt two of her fellow inmates getting busy in the greenhouse. She turned to leave, but then was startled when she heard someone inside the building call out in a language she didn't recognize. And then, it dawned on Chapman that she knew the voice, even though the tones were obviously saturated with passion. Red's voice, after all, was distinctive, and there was no mistaking it.

 _Red is in there_ , Chapman thought, _Red is in there getting it on with…someone_. She felt herself riveted to the spot, not wanting to listen but not being able to do the smart thing and run away. Chapman turned the possibilities over in her mind, trying to figure out the identity of Red's partner.

Caputo? _Fuck no_ , Chapman thought; nobody would boink Caputo unless they were really aiming for the favor of the millennium. Anyway, Red's game was so far beyond having to use sex to get what she wanted. Briefly, Chapman considered the possibility that Red was screwing another inmate, but then immediately dismissed it. Red didn't go that way, period, end of story. Chapman couldn't even imagine it. So then who? Chapman went through a mental index of all the male guards, until, with a shudder, she hit on one face in particular, the only person who even made sense.

 _Oh…my…fuck…_ Piper thought _._ With that, she turned around and began to sprint across the yard, not caring who saw her or what kind of trouble she might get into. All thoughts of her chicken mission were lost in her desire to get as far away from the greenhouse as she possibly could.

Author's Note: My headcanon until season 4 comes out is that Alex didn't die in the finale; she just got really messed up. Because I really like Alex and she cannot be dead. Period. Also, next chapter Red will be kicking ass and taking names.


	9. Chapter 9

Breakdown

Red stepped out of the shower with a sigh, feeling both revived and regretful. She supposed that it was completely disgusting and pathetically primal, but she hadn't wanted to wash Sam off of her; she loved smelling him on her, his scent mingling with hers and reminding her of the two of them together. She only showered because she knew that if she didn't, she was going to get seriously ripe, and she refused to have anyone pointing and whispering at her or, worse, thinking that she was going senile and forgetting to bathe herself. After she dried herself off, Red picked her clean clothes up off of the bench where she'd left them, wrinkling her nose at her prison-issue parachute panties and shapeless bra. Revolting as they were, her underwear had never been a big deal to her. She hadn't had anyone to show them off to…until now.

 _First thing I do when I get out_ , she thought as she fastened the bra in front of her and then twisted it to its proper position, _is go lingerie shopping_. She dressed quickly, and had just shoved her dirty clothes and towel into her laundry bag when she heard footsteps approaching. Red sighed; it looked like she had finished her shower in the nick of time. She showered outside of the assigned times precisely so that she wouldn't run into anyone, and also because she knew she could get away with it, but of course there was always the risk of running into someone who had come to use the bathroom. When she turned around, she saw Chapman, standing in the doorway with a roll of toilet paper in her hand and looking like a deer in the headlights.

"Oh, hey," Red greeted, running a hand through her wet hair to keep it from lying flat against her head.

"Red!" Chapman squeaked. The older woman furrowed her brow in a look that could almost have passed for concern.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Red asked. Nice as it was to know that she still inspired fear in her bunkie, she couldn't help but be a bit unnerved by Chapman's sudden shyness.

"Nothing!" Chapman answered, too quickly and in far too nervous a tone, "I mean…I…I'm fine…" Piper could feel her face getting hot. Ever since the fiasco that resulted from telling Red that her market was doing well, Chapman had made "Thou shalt not lie to Red" one of her top prison commandments. She wanted to be straight with the older woman, but what the fuck was she supposed to say? "Everything's great, Red. Better than great, actually; I saw my brother today, and he said that I made $300 on used panties so far this week. I just ate a Milky Way from commissary and I also heard you and Healy getting it on in the greenhouse yesterday." Piper swallowed nervously as she tried to think of what course of action to take.

Red narrowed her eyes, dropped her laundry bag and stalked towards the younger woman.

"You have something to say to me?" she asked, backing Chapman up against the wall and coming face-to-face with the younger woman.

"I-I…umm…"

"Spit it out!" Red hissed, "And think before you lie to me, Chapman. You have a good poker face, but I've been gambling since before you were born."

Chapman nodded. "Well, Red…umm…I…I was down by the greenhouse yesterday…"

All of the color drained from Red's face, and she backed away from Chapman as though the younger woman had punched her in the stomach.

"I was down by the greenhouse yesterday, and I heard…"

Both of Red's hands came up, connecting with Chapman's shoulders and pushing the younger woman hard against the wall.

"Shut up!" Red said, her voice low, threatening. Mentally, she kicked herself. She could have simply told Chapman that she was mistaken. She could have denied being anywhere near the greenhouse yesterday. But she panicked, and she had just given herself away, and now she was scrambling to figure out how to fix it. All that she could manage to do was to ask, "What the hell were you even doing near the greenhouse?"

"I was chasing the chicken…" Red pushed Chapman again, though not as harshly this time.

"Are you fucking with me?" the older woman asked. _No; technically, Healy's the one fucking with you_ , Chapman thought, though she didn't dare say it. Red would skin her alive.

"No; I really did see the chicken. And I was trying to catch it…for you…" Red took a step away from the younger woman, throwing her head back and looking at the ceiling.

"Jesus fuck," she said, before turning her attention back to Chapman.

"Look, Red, I'm sorry," the younger woman said, "But you have to know, I'm not going to tell anyone…I…"

"You're damn right you're not going to tell anyone," Red replied, invading the girl's personal space and staring her down, "If you do, your little panty business isn't the only thing I'll put an end to. That alone could get you thrown into max until you're 50, but if that doesn't do it, rest assured that I have plenty more shit on you."

Red derived a perverse sense of satisfaction from the horrified look that crossed Piper's face. She did not, in fact, have anything on Chapman besides her little enterprise, but Piper's reaction to her threat proved that there was plenty more dirt to be dug up. Red filed that useful tidbit away for future exploration; right now, she was focused on scaring the granny panties off the young woman in front of her.

"I promise, Red. I really do."

Red nodded and let Chapman go, pleased that she hadn't yet lost her touch. Chapman's time in prison had hardened her, and she knew that the young woman wasn't scared of much at this point, but it was good to know that the fear of Red was still strong.

"See that you honor that promise," Red said darkly before picking up her laundry bag and heading out.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When the Russian woman thundered down the hallway, it was like Moses parting the Red Sea. Other inmates, taking one look at her rapid gait and the scowl on her face, scrambled to get out of her way. She reached Healy's office, and pulled the door open without even knocking. Both Healy and his counselee, whose name Red vaguely remembered was Soso, looked up in surprise.

"Oh, shit; sorry," Red said as cordially as she could manage, closing the door and using this as an opportunity to compose herself. Soso gave her a frightened look as she exited just seconds later and, when Red entered the office, Healy was standing at his desk. When she closed the door behind her, Red locked it.

"Galina, what—" Healy began, but Red cut him off.

"Chapman knows," she said shortly.

"What?!" exclaimed Healy.

"She knows. She was taking a little stroll out by the greenhouse yesterday. She heard us. She just confessed everything to me in the bathroom."

"Oh, shit…"

"Yeah, oh shit," Red said, pacing the length of his office.

"What…what are we going to do?" Healy asked, unable to think through the panic.

" _We_ are not going to do anything," Red said, " _I_ put the fear of God in her, and if she ever runs her mouth, I will shank her."

"You can't do that, Galina," Healy said.

"Why the fuck not? If she decides to take this to Caputo, we'll both die behind bars. What would I have to lose at that point?"

Sighing heavily, she sank onto the couch. Healy made a move to come and join her, but Red put up both of her hands, warding him off.

"Don't, Sam. Just…don't." She would break if he touched her; just a brush of his hand on her skin would have her sobbing like a child.

Healy expected to see anger reflected in her eyes when she looked at him, but instead there was only sadness there.

"What happens now?" he asked.

"We admit that we made a mistake," Red said, her voice strained.

"Loving you is not a mistake!" Healy protested.

"But it is, Sam. And an illegal one, at that. We were stupid to indulge this…this _thing_ between us. We both should have kept our hands to ourselves."

"I refuse to accept that."

"You'll accept it when they're slapping the handcuffs on you!" she snapped. Then, more softly, she said, "I won't do that to you. I won't let you do it to yourself. I'm going to stay away from you. I'm going to keep my head down for the rest of my sentence, I'm going to spend every night _praying_ that Chapman will keep her word." As she spoke, she steeled herself, recognizing the necessity of her plan and resigning herself to it, trying with all her might to close herself off to the man who stood before her, in whose eyes she could see tears ready to drop.

"It's only two years. Two years is nothing. We'll get through it. If we're meant to be together at the end of it, then we will be."

Healy nodded, recognizing that neither of them had any choice in this matter. She was right; they had been stupid, and if they continued to see one another romantically, if they let this become routine, then they would get even more careless, and they would be caught. The best thing now was to nip it in the bud, do some damage control, and then let it be.

"I'll wait for you, Galina. I will be there when you're out."

She nodded. "I believe you." Then she stood, and approached him, wanting to throw herself into his arms and stay there forever. She settled for taking his hand, giving it a brief but meaningful squeeze, and then whispering, " _Ya tebya lyublyu_ , Sam," before turning to leave.


	10. Chapter 10

Author's Note: So yesterday was a sick day for me, which meant I had plenty of time for writing. One of you lovely reviewers suggested that I should go deeper into having Red and Healy get to know each other some more, so I've taken that suggestion to heart and that's exactly what I'm doing in the next few chapters (with plenty of other drama thrown in, of course). I pretty much have the next couple of chapters ready to go, so I'm probably going to be updating like bam, bam, bam! Hope that's okay with everyone ;)

Breakdown

The months had come and gone since Red and Healy came to their agreement. Summer slipped lazily into autumn, then Thanksgiving came, a rare occasion when the bagged meals were retired and Red, with the cooperation of Gloria and the rest of the kitchen crew, got to prepare an actual dinner. It had been bittersweet for the Russian woman; on the one hand, she had gotten to see people enjoying her food again, food that she made with her own hands. But she also knew that their enjoyment would be short-lived, and that tomorrow it would be back to pre-packaged sludge. Still, just for that one day, Red was happy at her job, and Healy, having volunteered for cafeteria duty that morning, got to see her in all her regal, ecstatic glory as she ordered her underlings about while stirring gravy with one hand and gesturing wildly with the other. Her joy gave him joy, and he couldn't help but grin at her as he left the cafeteria that day.

Christmas came, the annual Litchfield talent show/pageant went forward without a hitch, and then the harsh winter had culminated in a Valentine's Day during which Healy's thoughts had been filled with nothing but Galina. Red had been possessed by the half-hopeful, half-terrified expectation that Healy would attempt some gesture of affection. To her dismay/relief, she hadn't seen him until the end of the day, when they passed each other in the mostly-empty hallway. He greeted her, they spoke for a minute, and then she casually wished him a happy Valentine's Day.

"Happy Valentine's Day to you, too," he said. Just when Red had been ready to dejectedly continue on her way, he had bowed his head towards her slightly and whispered, so softly that she could only hear the ghost of the word, " _solnyshka_." The simple endearment kept her heart fluttering for weeks. Still, she didn't dare seek him out for any reason, not even to go to his office and have a short conversation, the way that they sometimes did before romantic feelings had ever sprung up between them. Although they had both managed to stay away from each other (Red was actually surprised that Healy hadn't yet broken down), they each felt the absence of the other intensely, and Red had a feeling that eventually, they would come to a tipping point.

That point came when she got sick. She stumbled into Healy's office one morning after her breakfast shift, her skin cold, clammy, and ghostly pale. A look of concern flashed across Healy's face when he saw her.

"Red," he said, standing up and meeting her where she stood at the door, "Are you all right?"

"I don't know," she replied faintly, foggily, "I feel…I don't…my head is so light…"

"Here, come sit down," he guided her towards a chair, holding her hand as she lowered herself into it.

"I don't…don't know what's wrong with me...I can't think…" she said. Her hands shook in her lap, and she shivered for no apparent reason.

"You don't feel nauseous, do you?" Healy asked, ready to grab his trashcan and thrust it into her shaking hands. She shook her head.

"No," she said, "Nothing to throw up anyway. I haven't…haven't eaten…"

"Well, then, there's your problem." Healy opened his desk drawer, pulling out an assortment of granola bars and other snacks, and laying them before her. He expected her to scoff, or to give him one of her panic-inducing scowls, but instead, she grabbed a granola bar and then unwrapped and bit into it. After she had finished, she leaned forward in her chair, resting her forehead in her hands and closing her eyes. She stayed like that for several minutes, as Healy looked on, concerned. Finally, she straightened up, and her gaze was focused.

"Thank you," she said, voice steady as the color returned to her cheeks, "It was stupid of me to skip breakfast. I never do, but I woke up late this morning." Her eyes met his, and she saw the worried look still lingering on his face.

"I'm fine, Sam," she reassured him, "And I should be going; I don't want to take up too much of your time."

"Galina," he said as she stood and walked to the door. She turned around, noting that the room tilted slightly as she did so.

"I think maybe you should take today to rest. You know, Gloria and the rest of the kitchen staff can handle lunch and dinner; you should focus on getting better."

Red scoffed. "Yeah, that's how it starts," she said, "I take a sick day or two, here and there, the Spanish start to see me as weak, they slowly take over all my duties until there's nothing left for me to do in my own kitchen, and then they push me out. I don't think so, Healy. Anyway, I'll be fine now; I just needed to eat."

Healy shook his head as she left, knowing that it would be pointless to argue with her, and downright dangerous to call her back in and order her to stay away from the kitchen.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Later that day, around 4pm, the silence of Healy's office was interrupted by a shriek. He dropped his pen down onto the desk and ran for the door, opening it to see one of the younger kitchen staff women running from the cafeteria.

"Inmate!" Healy barked, "What in the hell is going on?" The girl looked up at him with panicked eyes.

"Red's…" she said, "Red's dead!"

In a flash, Healy was bolting through the cafeteria doors, into the kitchen. His heart stopped when he saw his Galina lying there on the floor like a broken china doll, her limbs splayed around her and her eyes closed. Norma was on the floor with Red's head in her lap, and Gloria was shouting orders at the younger of the Diaz women.

"What in the hell happened?" Healy asked, more harshly than he had meant to. He joined Norma on the floor, kneeling in front of Red's limp body.

"We don't know, Mr. Healy," Aleida Diaz said, "She got up to go check on a pot of food, and then she just passed out."

"I think she might have low blood sugar, Mr. Healy," Gloria chimed in, "My _tia_ 's a diabetic, and this is exactly what happens when she don't eat enough or she ain't taking care of herself right."

Two other guards, Wanda Bell and one of the newer ones whose name wasn't important enough for Healy to remember right now, appeared in the entrance to the kitchen.

"So what…" Healy asked, fighting to keep his voice from wavering and tears from sprouting up in his eyes, "What do we do?"

"I got the honey," Dayanara said, handing the bottle to Gloria.

"When my aunt gets like this, we usually put some honey in her mouth, right under her tongue," the other Litchfield chef explained, and then, with a look of revulsion, she said, "But I ain't sticking my fingers in Red's mouth."

"Oh, for Christ's sake," Healy said, reaching for the bottle. Norma was quicker. The mute woman grabbed the bottle from Gloria's hand, gathered some honey onto two of her fingers, and then opened her friend's mouth, applying the honey as Gloria had instructed.

After a moment of sheer agony for Healy, Red's eyes slowly fluttered open, and she looked around in confusion, first at Healy in front of her, and then up at Norma, who was still supporting her head.

"What…what the hell…?" she asked hazily, tasting the honey under her tongue.

"You're not doing so good, _chica_ ," Gloria announced.

"Red," Healy said gently, "You passed out and we had to revive you. Officer Bell is going to call an ambulance," he turned to look at the doorway, and Bell nodded and left, "We're going to take you to the hospital, and figure out what's the matter with you."

"Hospital…no…" Red murmured, "I'm not…not sick."

"Of course not," Healy said, grabbing both of her hands and pulling her up while Norma pushed on her back.

"Seriously, Healy, I'm fine." The assertion was not convincing, considering that her speech was slurred. "Look, I can even walk." She pulled away from the arm that he had put around her waist and stood firmly for about two seconds before she wavered and Healy had to catch her.

"Yep, you're great," Healy told her as Norma came to support her other side and she and Sam led Red out of the kitchen, "Healthy people regularly pass out while preparing dinner."

Red would have shot him a withering glare if she had felt at all normal. Instead, she purposely shrank away from Healy and put her arms around Norma. Although she was annoyed at him for being sarcastic with her, Red couldn't focus much on that, because her head was still spinning, and she could feel her entire body shaking. When Healy and Norma got her up to the front of the prison, to the boundaries that prisoners couldn't cross unaccompanied by a guard, Healy thanked the silent woman for her help, promising to take care of Red from there.

He led her past the curious eyes of the guard in the intake center and the visitors in the waiting room, and out into the chilly March air. Once they were outside, he looked around quickly before bending down to whisper in her ear, "It's all right, _lyubov moya_ ; we're going to get you better." Forgetting her anger, and overwhelmed by how heavy her head suddenly felt, Red used her weakness as an excuse to lean against him and let him hold her as the wail of sirens sounded in the distance.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Red was sent to his office as soon as she was processed back in. When she walked in and closed the door behind her, Healy was pleased to see that she looked like her normal self again. Unfortunately, that sense of normalcy also meant that he was going to have to deal with her wrath over her health having failed her in front of everyone. Not that it was his fault, or anyone's, really, but Red had a way of spreading misery around whenever she herself wasn't feeling well. He knew before even seeing or speaking to her that she would be intensely embarrassed about what happened, and the only way that Red knew to handle humiliation was by turning it into rage.

She sat down in one of the chairs opposite his desk, crossing her legs and folding her arms across her chest.

"Well," Red said sharply, the tone of her voice like distant thunder before a storm, "It looks like you were right. I should have taken the day off work."

"You think I got any joy from being right about your being sick?" he asked. Red pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes at him.

"Sorry," he quickly apologized. She leaned back in her chair.

"So," she said, looking at the file on his desk, which she recognized as her own, "What exactly is wrong with me? The stupid nurses at the hospital wouldn't tell me anything, and I only caught a fleeting glimpse of a real doctor. I guess felons don't get the right to be informed about what's happening with their own bodies."

Healy heard the bitterness in her voice and felt indignant for her over how she had been treated. Criminal or not, she was a human being, and everyone deserved to be informed about their health. Still, he knew that getting angry at a doctor way on the other side of town would do nothing to help her, and so he opened her file, looking at the newest paper lying on top of all the rest. A useless gesture; he had already memorized every detail of what it said.

"Hypoglycemia is what's wrong with you," Healy replied, "The medical report says you're pre-diabetic. Fasting blood glucose level of 123, A1C at a solid 6. What happened in the kitchen, and here in the office that morning, was that your blood sugar got too low because you didn't eat, so you got sick."

Healy watched Red as she swallowed the news. Her facial expression didn't change, but he saw her eyes become glassy.

"Diabetes…" she whispered, "My _mamushka_ …she died of that. She went blind towards the end, and then she got an infection, and…"

Healy stood up and went to the window overlooking the hallway, briefly glancing around outside to make sure nobody was paying attention, and then closing the blinds and going to her.

" _Pre_ -diabetes, Galina," he said, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder, "There's still plenty that can be done to keep you healthy. I've been up all night, reading everything that I could get my hands on…" Red rolled her eyes. "And that doesn't make you feel any better, I know, but I swear it's going to be all right. _You're_ going to be all right."

Healy took both of her hands in his and knelt before her. "Remember, the DOC has to provide healthcare for you for the next year and a half, which will include monitoring your condition."

"And after that?" she asked, her voice still trembling, "I'll be going out into the world with no job and no prospects. Definitely no insurance. What do I do then?"

"Then, I'll take care of you," Healy said, pressing her hand with his and resisting the urge to kiss her. She tested his will when she slid her arms around his neck, but Healy simply let her rest her head on his shoulder while she steadied her breathing. "It's going to be all right, _dorogaya moya_ ," he promised.

"No, it won't," she said, half in earnest and half petulantly, just for the sake of being contrary. Healy almost had to smile at that. Sick or not, she was still the same argumentative, pessimistic woman that he had fallen in love with.

"Yes, love," he whispered, "Yes, it will."


	11. Chapter 11

Author's Note: This chapter is heavy, man, but it's also a nice long one for you guys. Also, I'm probably going to be name-dropping a lot of classic rock songs/artists from this point on. Because I love classic rock, I have a feeling Healy would be a classic rock guy, and I just think it's fun to write about these two doing stuff to some of my favorite songs. Listening to ELO or CCR while reading this chapter is recommended but not essential to the enjoyment of the story.

Breakdown

After Red's fainting episode, she made a decision about her relationship with Healy. Before, she had been determined to stay away from him, to keep both him and herself out of trouble by simply removing the temptation. While she still knew that they could never give into that temptation again, at least not as long as she remained at Litchfield, she decided that avoidance was not the answer. As she had lain in her hospital bed, she had come to the realization that she missed him, that she couldn't go without seeing or speaking to him.

She came to his office one evening, just as he was packing up to leave, dressed in her stained chef's coat, her hair tousled and sweat glistening on her face from the heat of the kitchen. She was a mess, Healy reflected, but a beautiful one.

"It feels strange not talking to you," Red said matter-of-factly, sitting down in one of his chairs, "We've always talked, we've always been…friends. Kind of. There's nothing strange about an inmate meeting with her counselor regularly, and, the more I think about it, the more it seems to me like it would actually be more suspicious if I suddenly stopped coming here to complain about my sub-par appliances."

Healy couldn't help but chuckle at her paper-thin excuses and the way she twisted logic to suit her own ideas.

"Come by any time you want, Red," he replied, "I'll always have tea and conversation for you."

So it was that she came to his office on Mother's Day, just barely knocking to signal her presence and then strolling in, as was her wont. She closed the door behind her. Then, with a brief glance at Healy, she went over to his window and shut the blinds. Finally, she sat down on the opposite side of his desk with an exaggerated sigh.

"May I hide out in here until all of those horrible children are gone?" Red asked, "The noise is really driving me up the walls."

Healy smiled. "Fine by me. I'm hiding out, too. I spent most of my morning trying to corral Warren and keep her away from the action outside."

Red smirked and leaned back in her chair. It was then that she realized Healy had his radio on. The classic rock station was playing "Turn to Stone" by Electric Light Orchestra, a song that she had always loved and hadn't heard in years. Without even thinking, Red began to sing along with the chorus, her singing voice gravelly but on pitch and not unpleasant. Healy chuckled.

"I had no idea you were a rock girl," he said, "I always hear you playing opera in the kitchen."

"Oh, I love opera, too," she replied, "But I mostly play that for the girls. They hate it, of course, but I think it's good to expose them to some culture. Anyway, I enjoy torturing them." Her lips curved in that mischievous smile Sam loved, and she continued to hum along with the music.

"ELO. You have good taste," he commented.

"This was my best friend's favorite song. Her name was Anya, and she was more like a sister; we grew up together. When we were girls, she would always come to my house, because her father was a mean old drunk who beat his children. Anyway, we would lay on my bedroom floor and listen to the radio, mostly American music, and we would dream about what it was like here, about getting the hell out and coming to America," Red reminisced.

"And did she?" Sam asked, "Ever come to America, I mean?"

Red shook her head. "No. She married a man who was just like her father, except his poison was heroin, not booze. He got her addicted, too, and her life was pretty much over after that. She OD'ed at the age of 23."

Healy stared at her in shock; he had had no idea. Such a tragedy, and she had experienced it when she was so young. Then, he realized that this actually explained a lot about Red. This was why she cared so much about the young girls who came to prison strung out on one drug or another, why she covered for them as they detoxed and then took them under her wing. Why she made sure they stayed clean and cast them out if they didn't, and why she suffered and blamed herself when one of them backslid.

"Oh, shit, Galina," Sam said softly, "I'm so sorry. That's awful."

Red shrugged. "It's life. Especially working-class life in Soviet Russia. Most of the people I grew up around ended up either dead or addicted to something. Why do you think I wanted out so badly?"

Healy didn't know what to say to that, and the silence hung heavy between them as the song faded into another, "Have You Ever Seen the Rain?" by Creedence Clearwater Revival.

Finally, she broke the silence by changing the subject. "I'm surprised Caputo even allowed another Mother's Day event, considering that last year's ended with all of us getting bed bugs." She got up to start the electric kettle Sam had begun keeping in his office just for their tea times. "You know, I never liked children very much."

"And yet you had three," Healy pointed out.

"Not my idea," Red replied. Before Healy could comment or question, she continued, "Anyway, I liked my sons well enough when they were kids, even though sometimes, three little boys at one time was too much to handle. It really is different when they're your own. It's other people's children I can't stand."

"Speaking of your sons, I hope they're coming to visit today?" he inquired.

"They already did. All three of them. Maxim told me that he and his girlfriend are expecting. I'm going to be a _babushka_ …again."

Healy was startled by the flatness of her voice, the seeming absence of joy or anticipation. She commented on this news as casually as if she had told him that the sun was shining and it was 80 degrees outside.

"Well, congratulations! That's wonderful."

"Yes," she agreed as she made the tea and carried the cups over to his desk, "Wonderful."

But when she looked up at him, her eyes were empty.

"What's wrong, Galina?" he asked.

Red sighed. "I did the math. My grandchild will be six months old when I get out of here," she said, "I won't be there when he—or she—is born. I have three other grandchildren, and I've only seen each of them a handful of times. I am a terrible grandmother, just like I'm a terrible mother."

"Galina, you're not a terrible mother," Healy said.

"Of course I am. I barely even raised my children. My youngest was ten when I came to this shithole. I've now been in prison more than half his life. I fucked up my life, I got thrown in here, and I left my boys to be brought up by their idiot father."

"But that wasn't your fault!"

"Wasn't it? I'm a criminal, Sam," she reminded him, "I realize you don't like to think of me that way, but it's what I am. I may have been a minor player and I may have been low enough on the totem pole that I was easiest for Ganya to sacrifice when his own ass was on the line, but I was deep enough in the mob shit that it got me put away. It's my fault I'm here, and my sons are the ones who paid the price."

Healy didn't know what to say. He wanted to go to her, hold her and comfort her, but that would only make her nervous; she'd be looking at the door or the window for the rest of their talk. He found himself on the verge of telling her that she wasn't a horrible mother; she had her Litchfield daughters, and they all looked up to her. Most of those girls would have been entirely rudderless without her to guide them, and some of them would be dead if she hadn't saved them, but, somehow, he didn't think that would help her much, either. She was thinking about her family on the outside now, and Healy didn't know enough about them to reassure her that they were all right.

Instead of speaking, he simply stayed quiet and let her regain her composure. He knew from experience that Red appreciated this. When their relationship had first begun to change, he had noticed that his first impulse when she was upset was always an attempt at consolation. Rarely did she ever respond to these gestures. Galina Reznikov, while capable of great depths of feeling, was not an emotional woman, and, when negative feelings did come, she had to wrestle and defeat them on her own, without the aid of sappy platitudes.

When she had gotten herself back to something resembling normal, Red switched the conversation. Turning her eyes on him, she said, "So, speaking of mothers, what was yours like? You've never talked about her."

She was right; he never had, which was why there was no way that Red could have realized what a massive can of worms she'd just opened.

"Oh…" Healy stammered, "Well, my mom…she…umm…she died just about two years ago."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Is it still too hard for you to talk about her?"

"No," he said, "No, it's fine. It's just, my mom wasn't really…around a lot…when I was a kid."

Red raised her eyebrows in confusion.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Well, she, umm…she was away a lot," he said elusively, and then, realizing that he was probably setting off every single one of Red's bullshit detectors, he admitted bluntly, "She was locked up a lot. In mental institutions."

"Oh," Red said. Then, after a pause, "What was wrong with her?"

"What wasn't wrong with her is the better question. Doctors were stupid back then, especially about mental health, but now that I've studied psychology myself, I realize that she was schizophrenic. At the very least."

Red bit her lower lip and put her hands in her pockets.

"I'm sorry, Sam. That must have been hard for you."

"It could have been worse," he said, "I do have a lot of good memories of her from when I was a kid. She didn't really start going off the rails until I was a teenager, and by then I could look out for myself. And even when she was gone when I was younger, my older brother was always there to take care of me."

Red remembered the story Healy had told her and Yoga Jones about Woodstock. If that was at all representative of how well Sam's brother "took care" of him, then Healy had been severely neglected as a child, at the very least.

"Where was your father in all of this?" she asked.

Sam shrugged. "Who the hell knows? He walked out when I was six. Didn't even say goodbye, just left in the middle of the night while everyone slept and never came back. I've never bothered to track him down. Didn't feel the need to." The bitterness in Healy's voice was almost palpable.

 _Derr'mo_ , Red thought to herself. No father, mentally unstable mother and a brother who had been responsible for Sam while he himself was probably still a kid…she couldn't even begin to imagine the hell that Healy's childhood must have been. She had grown up poor in a communist country with a mother whose physical health was fragile and a father who could barely support his wife and four children. They hadn't had much, but her parents were good people, and she had been neither abused nor neglected. Her heart broke for the man sitting in front of her.

"I'm sorry, Sam," she said, "I'm sorry I made you talk about all this."

"It's all right. No one's ever been so interested in my past before. It's…it's actually therapeutic, in a way, to discuss it."

Red snickered. "I think you've grossly misunderstood how the counseling process is supposed to work, Healy." She was glad when he smiled at that.

"If you don't mind me asking, what was it like when your mother was home? What was she like?" Red inquired. Healy paused for a moment, gathering himself together.

"When she was normal? It was great. She was a great mother. She cooked, she played games with me and took me back-to-school shopping and to the movies. It was nice. When things were really bad, I didn't see much of it. Most of what I saw were little things. Her talking to people who weren't there, waking me up in the middle of the night and insisting that bake a cake or waltz in the living room. Sometimes she threw things—I still have a scar on my left arm from where a kitchen knife grazed me when I was thirteen. Hank—my brother—shielded me from the worst of it, I think, until I was old enough to handle it."

Red struggled to process what he was saying. Obviously his cavalier attitude was a coping mechanism, but she couldn't get over the fact that he thought talking to imaginary people and throwing knives were "little things," at least in his mother's case. If any of the inmates in Litchfield—even Red herself—behaved that way, Healy wouldn't have hesitated to send them to Psych.

"And what do you classify as 'old enough'?" asked Red, almost afraid to find out.

"I think I was fifteen when we had to send her off for good. I wanted to drop out of high school and take care of her full-time, but I was too young to get a GED and Hank wouldn't let me. But I felt so guilty. I came home from school one day, and I found her passed out on the floor, and she had all these prescription bottles scattered around her…she lived, of course; I got there and called the ambulance just in time, but I always thought, if I had never even gone to school that day, if I had just _been there_ , she wouldn't have swallowed all those pills to begin with…"

"You think it was your fault?!" Red exclaimed.

"No, not necessarily. I just…I should have…"

Red was out of her chair and by his side in a flash.

"Stop it," she said, putting her arms around his neck and pulling him into her. Healy's head was nestled against her stomach, his face pressed into the soft material of her gray sweatshirt.

"It wasn't your fault, Sam, none of it," she whispered, running one hand through his hair. He stood up and wrapped his arms around her waist.

"I don't want you to feel sorry for me, Galina," he whispered.

"But I do," she replied, taking his left hand and pushing the sleeve of his uniform shirt up until she found the scar he'd spoken of. She brushed her lips lightly against it. "I can't help it."

That small gesture melted his heart, and it was all that Healy could do not to kiss her right then and there. He wanted to, wanted to crush her to him and melt into her until there were no bad memories, no painful pasts resurfacing to haunt them, only the pleasure of their union, but he pulled himself back, knowing that they couldn't. All of that was done, at least for the foreseeable future, and the day when they could have that closeness again seemed so far away as to be almost unimaginable.

Beyond the walls of his office, they both heard the voices of the other inmates as they began to shuffle in from outside, and Red broke away from him.

"I'll have to leave soon," she said regretfully, "Dinner prep."

"I know," Healy replied, "Come and see me again when you can." She nodded and moved away.

"Oh, and Galina?" Red turned around, staring at him inquiringly.

"Thanks. For listening to me. And…and for opening up to me as well."

Her smile was sad, but still radiant. "Of course… _lyubov moya_."


	12. Chapter 12

Author's Note: This is a more reflective chapter, more of Red and Healy getting to know each other and being honest with one another. I promise the story will be picking up in the next few chapters. You'll see why after you read this.

Also, I have a question for all you wonderful readers. I was planning on ending this fic right after Red gets out of prison, and then doing a "and then they lived happily ever after" kind of conclusion (with an OITNB kind of twist, of course). But I thought it might be interesting to explore how their relationship might pan out once Red is out of Litchfield, even though that's most likely something that you would never see on the actual show. I already have a couple of ideas, but I'm not going to write those chapters unless I know you guys are interested. So comment and let me know!

Breakdown

"It's so weird, the way things work out in the end," Healy mused, stretching his legs out in front of him while being careful not to disturb Red, who sat next to him with her head on his shoulder.

"What do you mean?" she asked, looking up at him. Earlier, he had announced that his divorce from Katya was final; the mail-order bride was officially out of his life, and his superior financial status had allowed him to hire better lawyers, thus ensuring that all of Katya's bids for alimony had fallen through. He almost seemed triumphant when he mentioned the last part, and Red had gotten the feeling that she should chastise him for that, perhaps even feel sorry for Katya. Still, she was mean-spirited enough, and bore the other Russian woman enough ill will, that she couldn't bring herself to feel anything close to pity.

"I don't know. I guess that I expected to feel…sadder. I mean, I just ended a marriage, and I don't even care. I only care that I'm here with you."

"You're right, Healy; that's pretty fucked up," Red said. Sam looked at her, and they both snickered. "Oh, we're horrible people," she added, "Straight to Hell with both of us."

"As long as we'll be there together," he said. Red said nothing; she only leaned back into him.

He was right; it was weird how things turned out. Loving him, for example, had never been something she'd have thought was in the cards for her. Even a year ago, if someone had told her that she'd be snuggled up to him on his sofa, in his office with the lights dimmed and tea on an end table in front of them, she would have laughed in their face. This wasn't anything she had ever planned on. She couldn't even explain it. If someone handed her a pen and a piece of paper and asked her to write an essay titled "Why I Fell for Sam Healy," she wouldn't be able to do anything more than fill the page with question marks. But she had long since given up on trying to rationalize how she felt.

She had to admit, as well, that she enjoyed being with him here, like this, even though it was a violation of the agreement they had made months ago, after they found out that at least one person knew. They kept their word to each other in some ways—outside of these four walls, they didn't do more than exchange short greetings. There were no more clandestine greenhouse meetings, and he didn't seek her out unless he had an official order to do so. She didn't even come to his office nearly as much as they both wished she could—the average was about once per month, infrequently enough to avoid arousing suspicion. During these meetings, they barely touched; being on the sofa together was rare; usually, they kept his desk between them as a buffer. Most times, all that they did was talk.

Despite the longing for him that Red had decided was simply never going to fade, she had to admit that she liked this, too. It was a getting-to-know-you process, a period of honest discovery that they had missed in their initial frenzied desire to possess one another. Healy and Red had known each other for thirteen years, and she felt that she understood him on a psychological level, but what they were doing now was deeper, more emotional and, ultimately, more meaningful. They were learning things about each other that they had never thought they would ever know. For example, Healy had learned that Red's favorite band was Fleetwood Mac, which was convenient since he liked them as well. She had even told him her story about the time when she was seventeen and her younger brother had walked in on her as she was dancing to "Go Your Own Way" in her underwear. In turn, Red had learned that Healy was a cat person and that he had a bizarre allergy to black cherries.

"You know, this might be out of the blue, but there's something I've been wanting to ask you about," Healy said, absently running his fingertips up Red's arm.

"I thought we were supposed to be celebrating your divorce," she replied lazily.

"Just indulge me," he said, "A little while ago, when we talked on Mother's Day, you said that it wasn't your idea to have children. What did you mean by that?"

Red paused, feeling as though Healy had just dropped her into a minefield. Her kids had always been a fraught subject for her, and acknowledging her feelings about it made her feel like a defective mother and a horrible woman.

"I'm not even really sure," she said evasively. She broke away from him, putting a few inches of distance between their bodies, pulling her legs up, and tucking them underneath her. "I think I just meant…it wasn't my idea to have so many. I always thought I'd have a kid or two, but it was never the end goal for me like it was for most of the girls I grew up with. I wasn't the kind of little girl who coddled her baby dolls. It was Dmitri who wanted the kids, and I felt like having them was just what I had gotten myself into when I walked down the aisle"

"So…you feel like you were coerced into becoming a mother?" Healy asked.

"Not even that. I was excited the first time, when I found out I was going to have Yuri. But if I had had my way, it would have been one and done. I hated being pregnant, and giving birth was agony—it never got any better. I only did it a second time because Dmitri and I both wanted a daughter, but we ended up with Vasily instead. It was the same story with Maxim, and then after that, I went on the pill. Dmitri and I had some spectacular fights about that, but I refused to try anymore. My luck, I would have ended up with more sons than I could count on both hands and no little girl."

Red shrugged and stared off at the far wall. "I don't regret my children. I wouldn't trade my boys for anything. But having three at the same time was hard, and Dmitri wasn't terribly helpful—'Men don't change diapers and push strollers, Galya,'" she intoned mockingly, and then added, "Useless pig."

At any other time, Healy actually would have been inclined to agree with Red's ex-husband. But he began to re-think that position when he saw the resentful look on her face. Obviously raising three children with very little help from her husband had taken a toll on Red's relationship with her boys, even before the legal system had taken her from them. Not being a parent himself, Healy couldn't even begin to imagine the ramifications of that, for Red or her sons.

"What about you?" Red asked, turning to him, "Did you want children? Or, I guess, do you? It's never too late for men."

"Are you giving me permission to sleep around with younger women?" Healy asked.

He meant for it to be a joke, and Red seemed to take it that way, until she smiled sweetly at him and said, in an artificially saccharine tone, "Only if you want to be castrated with a kitchen knife."

"I'll…umm…I'll pass on that, thanks," he murmured. As if to show that she had been joking as well, Red punched his shoulder gently.

"Of course I wanted kids," Healy said after a pause, "I always wanted to be a dad. Not having had kids is one thing I really regret."

Red moved closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder again.

"Right after Katya and I were married, before everything went to shit—which started to happen almost immediately, mind you—I thought, well, maybe. But obviously that was never meant to be."

"Probably for the best," Red observed, "Then you would have been stuck with her. Besides, I would feel sorry for any child raised by that woman."

"Me too, now that I think of it," Sam agreed, "Anyway, I think I was already too old to really be a father. I would have been pushing 80 by the time the kid graduated from high school; it would have been just a little ridiculous. Knowing that doesn't take away the regret, though."

"Sometimes I feel like life itself is regret. For things you never got to do, things you wish you hadn't done…people you couldn't keep. Like Nicky, for instance."

Healy turned to her, surprised.

"I still think about her every day," Red admitted, "Out of all my girls, I was closest to her. The rest of them…I know they need me in here, and I know how grateful they are that I'm there for them. But I also feel like, once I'm out of here, once their sentences are over, I probably won't ever see any of them again, or if I do, it'll be infrequently. Nicky was different. She was so tough on the outside, but I knew her better than that. I thought, 'Nicky will always need me; she'll always be with me.' Sometimes I even forgot that she wasn't really mine. It kills me, to think of her rotting away in maximum, and to know that there's nothing I can do."

"I know, Galina, I know," Healy said, putting an arm around her shoulders, "You know, I thought about her case, too. When she first got sent down the hill, I looked over her files; I tried to think of every loophole possible, any argument I could use to get her back into minimum security."

"You never told me that," Red replied, looking up at him with eyes that were widened in surprise.

"I didn't want to get your hopes up. And I'm glad I didn't, because I came up with exactly nothing. The best plan I had was writing to her lawyer, or to her mother to see if I could convince her to get more lawyers involved. But even then, there would have been no way for anyone to really build a case, and I would have been severely overstepping my boundaries."

"Which you've definitely never done before…" Red said.

"Which I got my ass handed to me for doing with Chapman's fiancé," Healy reminded her.

"True enough," she replied. After a pause, she said, "Thank you, Sam."

"For what?" he asked, "Failing to come up with a plan for getting your daughter back to you?"

"For trying," she said, kissing his cheek. They sat for a few more moments in silence, and then, suddenly, Red pulled away from him, turning to him with her blue eyes sparkling.

"Would there be any boundaries being overstepped if _I_ wrote to Nicky's mother?" she asked.

Author's Note: That's right, I'm bringin' Nicky back (yeah)! The next couple of chapters will make you feel feelings.


	13. Chapter 13

Author's Note: I really love this chapter, mostly because I made it steamy while still managing to use the phrases "dope fiend" and "enraged chimpanzee." I feel like Jenji Kohan (praise her!) would be proud.

Breakdown

"What's this I'm hearing about Luschek?" Red asked as she barged into Healy's office unceremoniously.

"Well, hello to you, too," Healy replied, looking up from his computer and giving her a small, teasing smile, "Come in, Red. Sit down."

Red closed the door behind her and did so. Reflexively, she looked over at the blinds on his window, which she was pleased to see were drawn. This had become habit every time she visited him. Mostly, all they did in his office was talk, not daring to even think about touching. Having the blinds open removed the temptation to do anything more than that. But if they were closed, it meant that she could be more open, she could let him in more and tell him things that were meant only for his ears. She supposed that this was stupid; nobody outside could hear her, regardless of how the blinds were positioned, but Red chalked it up to a weird psychological quirk.

"I hear they found cocaine in his desk," Red said, leaning forward eagerly, studying Healy's face.

"It was meth, actually," replied Healy, remaining surprisingly casual.

"Huh. Well, I don't suppose it makes a hell of a lot of difference what drug it was, does it? Please tell me he's out."

"Are you kidding me?" Healy said, "Everyone knows he's a dope fiend, and this is the second time he's had drugs found in his desk. Of course he's out."

"Well, you never know," Red replied, "In case you haven't noticed, Caputo is spectacularly bad at his job. You could probably replace him with an enraged chimpanzee and not see any difference."

Healy snorted at that. "Be that as it may, Caputo is also currently under a lot of pressure to keep this prison running smoothly. He really has no choice but to let Luschek go; it's Luschek's ass or his."

Red nodded. When she looked at him, Healy could see in her eyes the question that she dared not ask.

"I talked to him about Nicky today," Healy said, seeing no point in keeping her in suspense. For a moment, Red couldn't speak, but when she found her voice, she asked, "And?"

"And he told me to fuck right off, but he took her file and I saw him glancing at it as I left. I think he would have reexamined her case on his own, but it can't hurt to give him a nudge. He was just pissed off because now when he makes a decision, it'll look like he did it because I asked him to. He's petty like that, and he likes to take his frustrations out on his subordinates."

Red considered what he said. The observation was surprisingly astute for Healy. Sometimes she thought that she could do Sam's job better than he did; she was much more adept at reading people, although she usually did it to find and exploit other people's weaknesses rather than to try and help them. But then, sometimes, he would say something absolutely brilliant that would remind her that he had, in fact, studied the social sciences and deserved his position as counselor. It seemed like these moments came when he had a reason to actually try, when he was given something to believe in, instead of feeling crushed by a system that had spent twenty years beating any sense of altruistic hope out of him.

"Taking your frustrations out on subordinates being, of course, something you would never dream of doing in a million years." Red's response to Healy's statement about Caputo was undeniably snarky, but she kept her tone light, and smiled at him to emphasize that she was joking. Still, Healy frowned, and she knew that he was thinking of that time, more than a year ago, that she came to him asking for Dmitri to be removed from her visitation list and Sam had projected his marital troubles onto her. They had talked about that since then, and all was forgiven, but he still hated to be reminded of it.

"Which," he said, more darkly than he normally would have, "I am trying my damnedest not to do anymore." It was true. Finally being liberated from Katya had gone a long way towards erasing many of the issues that had distracted Sam and made him truly bad at his job during the time that they had been married. The rest of his issues were being handled in therapy, which, at Red's urging, he had started taking more seriously so that he could finally make some progress.

"I know, _dorogoi_ ; I'm sorry," she replied.

"Anyway," Healy said, eager to change the subject, "It's such a coincidence how this worked out, isn't it? We were just talking about Nicholls a few weeks ago, and now we might be able to get her back here soon."

"Yes," Red replied, "What a coincidence." Healy glanced over at her, and Red felt the bottom drop out of her stomach at the look on his face. _Oh, b'lyad_ , she thought, seeing his expression change as a realization dawned upon him. She shouldn't have said anything; a year ago, her deception could have flown easily under Healy's radar, but he was more attuned to her now; he knew her so much better now than he had in the previous thirteen years combined.

"Galina," he said, severely. Red kept her expression bland, impassive. "What did you _do_?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she replied coolly.

" _Galina_!"

"Nothing!" Red hissed, "I did _nothing_ , Sam; do you understand me?" He leaned back in his chair, shaking his head and pinching the bridge of his nose. When he looked back at her, it all clicked into place. Whatever she had done—and there was _no way_ that she hadn't had a hand in assuring that Luschek got busted—he had been kept out of the loop on purpose. For his own protection, no doubt, and to keep him out of trouble, but he still resented it.

"Did…did you expect me to go to Caputo? Was that part of your…whatever this was…too?" he asked. He knew that it was disloyal, but old resentments died hard, even between two people who loved each other, and Healy needed her to reassure him that he hadn't been just a pawn in one of her games.

"How can you even ask me that, Sam? Of course not! I expected that, if Luschek were caught with drugs a second time, Caputo would have no choice but to reconsider keeping Nicky in max. You never figured into any of this at all." _You were a wild card_ , Red thought, and reflected that it was purely shoddy planning on her part that she hadn't anticipated that he would do what he could to help Nicky, because she wanted Nicky back, and Sam wanted her to have everything that she wanted. It was terribly romantic, and even Red had to appreciate that, but it was difficult to when he was staring at her like he wanted to strangle her.

"Damn it, Galina," he raged, slamming his fist down on his desk, "Don't you _ever_ do anything like that again!"

Red crossed her arms over her chest and scowled. "Oh, so now you're giving me orders? Do you seriously think that's how this relationship is going to work?" she asked, her voice full of venom.

Before she could blink, Healy was out of his chair and in front of her, his hands on her shoulders and his eyes blazing into hers.

"This relationship," he said, "is not going to work _at all_ if you get sent down the hill, or thrown in the SHU, or if you get caught running one of your incredibly illegal schemes and get your sentence extended. If you don't want to be in jail forever, then you have to _stop acting like a criminal_."

Red said nothing; she simply kept her eyes locked with Healy's.

"I _need_ you, Galina," he said, more softly, keeping his hands on her shoulders but releasing most of the tension, "I need you out of here, in my home, in my bed, by my side. I need you free…"

He had been about to say something else, but Red's lips on his silenced him. He pulled her up out of her chair, ravishing her mouth with his tongue, hearing her sigh against his lips as she kissed him back while molding her body to his. Just when Healy thought that she was going to tear the breath from him, she released his mouth, panting into his chest.

His hands were still clutching her shoulders, and Healy used his grip on Red to maneuver her until her back was against the wall. He claimed her lips again, taking her tongue into his mouth and greedily sucking on it, reveling in the way that she moaned and locked her arms around his hips.

She encouraged him in high-pitched mews as his hands traveled down her body, grabbing her breasts and kneading them through the fabric of her shirt and bra, then moving towards her ass, pulling her against him so that she could feel his hardness between them. His lips were at her throat, feeling the rapid, erratic throbbing of her pulse beneath his tongue and then latching onto her soft skin, nipping and sucking. _This is not an intelligent thing to do_ , his last shred of sanity warned, _you'll mark her and someone will see_. But Healy wanted to mark her, wanted to stake his claim upon the still-uncharted lands of her body.

Red wanted it, too, but she could see that he was crazy with lust and that, if they were going to be smart about this at all, she would have to be the one to end it. She threaded her fingers in his hair, tugging gently on his head, pulling him away from her and groaning at the loss of contact, as well as the sudden shock of pleasure as the cold air hit her wet skin.

"We have to stop now, darling," she said.

"I want you, Galina," Sam rasped.

"I know," she said, kissing his forehead and then stroking his arm, "I know, love, but you'll never be able to have me if we fuck this up now. You have to calm down."

"I can't do that if you keep touching me," he replied. She nodded, regretfully letting go of him and retreating to her chair. He sank into his own chair, running a hand through his hair.

"I don't know how much longer I can do this," he said.

"Seven months," Red replied, "Less than a year. And then, honey, you can have me any way you want me."

"Do you promise, Galina?" he asked. Red knew that he was asking her so much more than whether or not they could fuck when she was finally free. She nodded.

"I promise. No more scheming, no more risks."

Healy nodded, and then, after a moment of uncomfortable silence, he said, "You know, if we keep having prematurely-interrupted makeout sessions in here, then soon I'll be just like Caputo, spanking it in my office like a teenager."

Red's lips curled into a look of disgust. "Caputo jerks off in his office?"

"Yeah," Healy replied, "He thinks no one knows, but Maxwell walked in on him buttoning up his pants and throwing away a tissue once."

Red shuddered. "And just like that, I am entirely unaroused," she said.


	14. Chapter 14

Author's Note: A fluffy interlude because this idea came to me last night and I couldn't not write it.

Breakdown

 _November really is the shittiest month_ , Healy thought as he slammed his car door and headed towards the prison. By November, all the pretty fall leaves had already dropped from the trees, but it wasn't yet winter, which meant that Christmas and the other fun winter holidays were still too far away. Moreover, November skies seemed to be perpetually gray, always threatening snow but not, as yet, delivering on their promise. Yep, super shitty month, which was, of course, why Sam Healy had to claim it as his birth month.

He hadn't celebrated his birthday in years. When he had been single, his birthday was essentially a non-event, and marriage to Katya hadn't changed that—she either never remembered or, if she did, gave him nothing but a half-hearted "happy birthday" before going on with her online shopping or watching of trashy reality TV shows. There were no "happy birthdays" to be had in Litchfield, either. Of all of his co-workers, probably only Caputo even knew when his birthday was—it wasn't a piece of information that Healy spread around. Honestly, he preferred for it to be forgotten. At his age, it was just a reminder of how fucking old he really was. He was turning fifty-nine; not an exciting age by any stretch of the imagination. All it meant to him was that he was _so very close_ to retirement but still too far away from it to really get excited.

When Healy entered the building and cleared security, he barely got to his office before being greeted by Caputo.

"Hey, Healy; you interested in doing me a favor?" the balding man asked.

"That depends what said favor would entail," Healy replied, unlocking his office door.

"I need you to cover the breakfast shift in the cafeteria. O'Neill and Bell are both out with some kind of stomach virus, so we're shorthanded and I really need everyone to help pick up the slack."

The cafeteria. Healy's heart skipped a beat. Being in the cafeteria would mean getting to see Red, if only briefly and from a distance. It had been weeks since she'd stopped by his office; likely trying to keep some distance, since both of their wills had been tested when she visited to talk about Luschek.

"Yeah, sure; I guess I can do that," Healy said, trying to keep his tone nonchalant.

"Great; I really appreciate it, man." With that, Caputo turned on his heel and went back to his office, and Healy set his briefcase down on the floor and headed to the cafeteria. It was still early, and the place was only about half-full—the rest of the inmates would either be showering or groggily zombie-walking towards the source of their daily caffeine fix.

Red was placing a large tray of bright green slop onto the serving line when Healy entered. As she placed the tray into its groove, some of the congealed liquid splattered onto her apron, leaving a rather unappealing stain. Healy could hear her cursing in Russian from all the way across the room. She looked up, and the annoyed expression on her face softened when she saw him. She turned and went back into the kitchen, which made Healy frown, until she reappeared with a mug in her hands and came towards him.

"You look like you need coffee," she said, holding the mug out to him. Sam had already had coffee, but more couldn't hurt, and he couldn't have refused her offering even if he wanted to.

"Thanks." He took the cup, and then she rummaged around in her apron, pulling out sugar packets and little tubs of creamer.

"I don't know how you take it," she admitted, blushing. It seemed strange to her that she didn't know this information—how was it that she had had sex with Healy, but she didn't know basic things like how much cream to put in his coffee?

"Lots of cream and exactly four sugar packets, for future reference," he replied, dumping the creamer into the cup.

"That's a little excessive," Red observed.

Healy shrugged. "I have a sweet tooth," he said.

"Hmm. So, if you don't mind me asking, what the hell are you doing in my cafeteria?" asked Red.

"Yours? I knew the kitchen belonged to you, but I didn't know that you also owned the dining space." She pursed her lips and crossed her arms. "If you must know, apparently we're shorthanded, so I get the pleasure of making sure no one drops dead from eating that miserable excuse for food we've got you all serving now."

"Ah. Well, it's actually good that you've come, because I wanted to ask you something. Are you going to be in your office later?"

Healy felt a flutter of excitement. Finally, they would get to have some quiet time together.

"I'm always in my office," he said.

"No, I mean, _really_ later. Like, after lights-out." Her voice had lowered to a whisper.

He raised one eyebrow. He was almost afraid to know why, exactly, Red needed to come to him after everyone else was in bed.

"I can be," Healy said, quietly, "but if you're out and about after lights-out, you could get caught. It's risky."

"I already have a cover story and, besides, I know how not to get caught," Red replied, "And if I am, what'll I get? A shot? Who cares? Be there tonight. Around 10?" Healy nodded and, without another word, Red turned around and went back to her kitchen.

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The knot in Healy's stomach got tighter with each passing minute. Waiting all day to see what Red had in store for him had been an exercise in restraint, and he had turned over and rejected every single possibility. Part of him was afraid that she was going to tell him that she couldn't see him anymore and he needed to leave her alone, for good. But that couldn't have been it; she had seemed perfectly cheerful that morning, and she had brought him coffee. Red was still an enigma, but he could read her well enough now that if something were amiss, he would have gotten at least some inkling. Maybe it was sex. Healy tried to stop himself from even entertaining that thought. They had their agreement, and Red had been very clear last time that it absolutely could not happen while she was still at Litchfield. But, still, a man could dream.

There was a knock at his office door, and then the door opened and she stepped through. Healy noted that she had one hand behind her back. She closed the door with her free hand, and then stepped up to his desk.

"Happy birthday," she said, producing a single cupcake from behind her back and placing it on the desk in front of him. Healy's eyes practically bulged out of their sockets.

"How did…how did you know?" he asked. He quickly tried to recap all of their previous conversations, trying to remember when he had told her his date of birth.

"Our first ever conversation," Red replied, "Thirteen years ago. You looked at my file and told me that your birthday was exactly a month before mine. I guess I filed the information away in the back of my brain."

"And you kept it there?" Healy asked.

"I guess so. My memory is weird that way; I always remember the strangest little details."

Healy picked the cupcake up. "Thank you, _solnyshka_ ," he said, and the endearment made Red practically beam, an incredibly rare but very welcome sight.

"You're welcome, _dorogoi_ ," she said playfully, sitting down in her usual chair.

"As much as I appreciate this," Healy said, "There's something I'm going to need you to come clean about."

"Oh?"

"In order to make cake, you had to have used eggs. How in the hell are you smuggling eggs into prison?"

Red laughed at that.

"I'm not," she replied, "I found the chicken."

" _The_ chicken? I thought you were going to kill and eat that thing if you ever caught it."

"I thought so, too. Until I actually had her within grabbing distance. Then I saw that she had built a nest, and it had eggs in it, and then I actually looked into her eyes, and I just knew that I couldn't hurt her."

Healy smiled—her confession was actually quite heartwarming. "You still stole and cooked her unborn, though," he pointed out.

"Well, all I'm trying to do is keep myself from going to Hell, not become Mother Theresa…"

That made Healy chuckle. He unwrapped the cupcake, and Red watched him as he ate it. It was the best damn cupcake he had ever eaten and, when he was finished, he told her so.

"I'm so jealous that I couldn't have a cupcake of my own. I only occasionally eat sweets, but I am missing sugar since I had to stop eating it," Red confessed. Healy stood up from his desk and came to stand beside her chair, coaxing her up and then taking her into his arms. When he kissed her, Red could still taste the sweetness of the icing on his lips and tongue.


	15. Chapter 15

Breakdown

In a bizarre twist of fate that really was entirely coincidental, Nicky was returned to minimum security on the exact day that Red's grandchild chose to come into the world. Both things happened one after the other, like the toppling of dominoes. Red had just gotten off the phone with her son, who informed her that her only granddaughter was healthy and perfect, and, not only that, she had been born with a whole head of ginger hair, the only redhead in the family besides Red herself. When Red finished talking with Maxim, she put down the receiver and practically skipped back to her bunk, feeling as though she was walking on air.

Chapman was sitting on her cot reading a book when Red returned to the cube.

"You look…elated," the younger woman observed when her bunkmate entered and sat on her cot. For the first few weeks after Piper's discovery of Red and Healy's greenhouse tryst, the nature of her ever-fragile friendship with the Russian woman had been up in the air. This was mostly due to the fact that Red refused to speak to Piper, and Piper hadn't known how to approach Red without feeling awkward or making the older woman even angrier. However, being forced to share such cramped quarters had eventually had its effect, and they were on friendly terms once again.

"I am elated," Red replied, "I just got off the phone with my son."

"Which one?" Piper asked, before everything clicked into place, "Ah! Maxim? He's the one with the pregnant girlfriend, right?"

"Well, not anymore. She had the baby. I have a granddaughter."

Before Piper could offer congratulations, Norma had appeared at the front of the cube.

"Did you hear that, Norma? It's a girl!" Red said, getting up and embracing her old friend.

"What's a girl?" a familiar voice asked. Norma and Red both turned toward the sound, wearing twin looks of disbelief, and Piper sprang up from her cot, peering over the top of the cinderblock wall and looking equally bewildered. For a moment, nobody moved or said anything; the three women simply stood staring at the newcomer, trying to determine if she was real or if they were all experiencing some kind of mass hallucination.

"Nicky," Red said at last, moving away from Norma and approaching the young woman.

Despite having resolved not to cry, Nicky Nichols felt tears pricking the corners of her eyes. "Ma," she whispered. Then she was engulfed in Red's arms, sobbing in earnest as her head fell onto the older woman's shoulder. Red clenched her teeth against the tears that she could feel threatening as she held the girl, stroking Nicky's wild hair and speaking to her in soft, tender Russian endearments, the kind that a mother would use to soothe a crying child.

"Come here, _devochka moya_ ," Red said, leading Nicky towards her cube, which Chapman, thankfully, had the common decency to vacate, followed closely by Norma, who, though she was also overjoyed to see Nicky back, could sense that the girl needed some time alone with Red before she was ready to rejoin the rest of the Litchfield population.

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"You realize, of course, that the whole rest of the family is going to be watching you like hawks," Red said, glancing severely at the young woman sitting across from her in her kitchen office.

"Yeah, I know," Nicky replied, in an exasperated tone.

"You know you fucked up royally."

"Yeah."

"I'm serious, Nicky," Red growled, "I got you out of max at great personal risk to myself. Not only did I have to get meth smuggled in here, but I had to hold it for days before I could find a way to get it into Luschek's desk. If there had been a sweep at any point during that time…"

"I know, Ma, I know! You act like I'm not grateful. I am, and I know that I owe you big time. I fucked up, and I'm going to make it up to you."

"You're damn right you are. And you're going to start by doing all the grunt work in my kitchen."

Nicky stared in disbelief.

"But I'm in Electrical!"

"You were in Electrical. You've got a brand new job assignment now, honey, and trust me when I say that I'm going to make it as unpleasant for you as I possibly can."

Nicky slumped in her chair, crossing her arms petulantly and pouting.

"And it goes without saying that if I ever, _ever_ catch you caught up in _any_ drug shit again, I will kick your ass into next Tuesday, yes?"

Nicky nodded. After a few moments of tense silence, Nicky finally gathered together enough courage to speak, asking what had been going on while she'd been away. When Red told Nicky about everything that had happened, the girl's jaw had practically dropped to the floor. She had been especially upset at finding out about Morello, but that was something she'd have to deal with on her own. Red would always offer emotional support to her girls, but she refused to intervene in their love lives unless both parties were in the family and things were getting really ugly.

In catching Nicky up, Red originally had no intention of saying a word about her and Healy, but Nicky was a perceptive girl, and sharp as a tack. She had only been back for two days, and she had already noticed a change in Red.

"Something's different about you, Ma," Nicky said. Despite how dangerously close Nicky was getting to discovering what Red was determined no one should know, she had to smile softly at the girl. Nicky hadn't called her "Red" once since she had returned to camp. When she addressed the Russian woman directly, it was always "Ma," just the way that Red's sons did when speaking to her. Just as if she had birthed and raised Nicky herself.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Red replied, picking up the Italian cookbook Gloria had given her a while back and opening it in a weak attempt to avoid Nicky's appraising stare.

"Nah, something's definitely different. You seem…happier, somehow. Almost like…whoa, Ma; did you…did you get laid?"

The book dropped from Red's hands, landing on the floor with a thud. When she looked at Nicky, her eyes were narrowed and her lips curled into a snarl.

"Watch your big mouth, little girl," Red warned, "I got you out of max, and I can just as easily put you back in." The look on Nicky's face was a mirror of the ones that Red's boys had always given her when she made similar, albeit less prison-y, threats with them.

"Sorry," the younger woman said, "I wasn't trying to be an asshole or anything. I'm glad for you. You deserve to be happy."

"Seriously, stop it," Red said, trying to sound severe but failing spectacularly. Everyone knew that Nicky was her favorite daughter, and absence had only made the heart grow fonder. As far as Red was concerned, the golden child could probably have gotten away with murder at this point, as long as she committed said murder while staying far away from narcotics of any kind. Unfortunately, the golden child realized this, which made her overly bold.

"So who is it?" she asked.

"No one," Red replied.

"Oh, come on! You know I'm not going to tell anyone. Tell me who my stepdad is. Unless it's Caputo. Then, by all means, please, keep me in the dark."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Red said, "Caputo?!" Both women snickered at that.

"But, seriously, Ma…"

Red sighed; she knew Nicky well enough to know that she would not let this go. "Healy," she finally said. Nicky couldn't have looked more shocked if Red had just told her that the zombie apocalypse had begun. "Sam 'I-hate-lesbians-because-I'm-a-misogynist-fuck' Healy?! Oh, my God, Ma, why?!"

"He's working through that shit!" Red exclaimed defensively. Nicky rolled her eyes in what was an almost perfect facsimile of Red's own characteristic gesture of annoyance.

"He really is," Red said, "He's trying, Nicky, and he's really a good man when you get to know him." Nicky raised her eyebrows in disbelief. "Fine, you don't have to believe me. You don't even have to like him or my relationship with him. But you do have to accept it." Red reached out and took one of Nicky's hands, "You're my daughter and I love you, but I love him, too. Don't ask me why; I can't explain it myself. But I know that I'd rather literally rip myself in half than choose between you two. Please don't put me in a situation where I have to."

Nicky's heart swelled at the amount of vulnerability Red was displaying. The Russian woman so rarely let her mask slip; no one ever got to see this side of her, except for a privileged few. Nicky knew that she was one of the chosen ones. She appreciated it, and she knew that she needed Red more than she needed to hate Healy, although she would always maintain that he was an ineffectual, prejudiced, paper-pushing windbag.

"Okay, whatever gets your rocks off, Ma," Nicky finally said, ignoring Red's glare, "As long as you don't expect me to call him Daddy."

Red laughed. "I would never expect you to call any man that, Nicky," she replied.

Author's Note: Man, I'm really ragging on Caputo in this fic. Can't help it; he skeeves me out.


	16. Chapter 16

Author's Note: This is going to be the second to last chapter for this fic. After I'm done with this one, I'm going to take my idea of portraying Red and Healy's futures outside of Litchfield and turn it into a separate story before this fic turns into a 30-something chapter monster. Just FYI.

Breakdown

It had been purely by accident that Healy happened to be passing by the visiting room when Red's son and his wife came to visit with their new baby in tow. He had actually been leaving for his lunch break, and the visitation room was the last stop before reception. Normally, he wouldn't even have glanced into the room, but on that day, he caught the red of her hair out of the corner of his eye, and the color arrested him.

Sure enough, there was Red, turned towards him but focused on the small bundle in her arms, while the man and woman visiting her were turned away. All that Healy could see of the baby were wisps of bright ginger peeking out from the crocheted cap on her head. He wondered if the little girl had gotten that from her grandmother; perhaps that was Red's natural color? He watched Red lift the baby gently and place a kiss on her forehead before he turned away and continuing to the reception room, deciding that he had already stopped too long to watch the little family scene.

When she came to his office later that evening, Red was beaming.

"I saw my granddaughter today," she announced as she sat down.

"I know; I saw you in the visitation room," Healy replied. Red looked confused. "I mean, I glanced in while I was heading out on my lunch break."

"Ah. So you saw the baby?"

"No, not really; how is she?"

"Perfect!" Red replied, "She looks so much like me, which I guess makes sense, because so does Maxim. She has my eyes and my hair; I think she's going to get my nose, too, poor child."

"You have a lovely nose, and so will she."

"Bullshit," Red said playfully, and then she sighed. "I was so sad to see them go. I just wanted to kidnap my granddaughter and keep her with me forever."

"Well, in five more months, you'll get to see her whenever you want."

"In five more months, I'll be living with her. I'm staying with Maxim when I get out. For at least a year. I feel bad, because they've got the new baby, but Yuri just got married and he and his new wife don't need me around, and Vasily and his girlfriend are constantly fighting, breaking up and getting back together. A year of dealing with that shit and I'd land right back in here for manslaughter."

"A year? Is that how long your parole is going to be?" Healy asked. She nodded. Healy was somewhat disappointed. It could have been a lot worse, of course; he suspected that she'd gotten such a short parole period because of her age and the fact that she had—technically and legally, anyway—been a model inmate during her fourteen-year sentence. Still, during her parole period, she would be legally bound to reside with her son. They had never talked about possibly moving in together once she was out, but Healy had always felt that it was implied. If he could, he would move her into his house the second she was free. He supposed that knowing was good, though. He had been unsure how long to wait to ask her to live with him; he didn't want it to seem as though he were rushing her, especially since she'd be basically starting her life over again and would have enough to worry about. Now, at least, he had some kind of timeframe.

"So, Red, what are your plans for when you get out? We haven't talked about that too much, but it's getting closer and closer."

"I know," she said, "It's overwhelming, but I've actually been thinking about it for quite a while. I've decided that I don't want to re-open my market."

Healy was stunned, and she could see it on his face.

"The market was Dmitri's idea. I wanted to open a pastry shop. He said that a market would be more profitable and bring in more customers, and he was probably right. Our compromise was that I got to serve food and coffee in the store. The more I think about it, the more I realize that this was the only part of the market that I really liked. The rest of it felt like being a glorified cashier and stock girl. Now that Dmitri is out of the picture, I can do what I want; I can finally have my pastry shop."

"You know, a combination pastry and coffee shop would be good, too. Plenty of tables, give the customers lots of room to sit and stay and eat," Healy said, more to himself than to Red. He looked over at her and could see her thinking this through. "Sorry," he added, "I'm not trying to be another man telling you what to do. I was just…umm…coffee shops…they're really popular now…"

She laughed as he stumbled over his words. "Look at you, being all sensitive about a woman's feelings," Red teased. She only halfway meant it as a joke. She suspected that not too long ago, Healy would have felt that his ideas for her potential future business were much more valid than anything a woman could come up with. The fact that he could now catch himself when he was being overbearing and not have to have it pointed out to him was definite progress.

"Anyway, I wasn't offended by your suggestion," she continued, "You might have a point. That's one of those things I'll have to think about some more. But, while we're on the subject of life after Litchfield, there's something I've been meaning to talk to you about."

"Oh? What's that?"

"I was thinking," she began, not quite sure how to approach what was certainly going to turn into a sensitive subject, "I thought, that when I get out, maybe it would be a good idea if you and I would…wait a little while. To see each other, I mean."

Healy felt as though she had just stabbed him right in the heart. "What?" he asked.

"Not a terribly long time," she reassured him, "Maybe, I don't know, a month or so. Six weeks, maybe?"

"Six weeks? We've waited for almost two years now, Galina. Why wait longer than we have to?"

"It's just…I'm going to have things that I'll need to do. There will be my family, of course, but it's more than that. I'll have to find a job, Sam; that'll be part of my parole, and I'll have to settle into a routine of meeting with my PO regularly, and getting back into the swing of just…doing everyday things. It's going to be a huge adjustment."

"Which is why you shouldn't face it alone," he reasoned. He had always planned on helping her transition back into normal life.

"But that's only part of it, Sam. I have to have my own business again; I need that. And starting a business is going to be difficult, it's going to take planning and finagling. There are some things that I just can't plan for while I'm in here, so many variables I'll have to consider. I want to have something definite together before…"

"Before seeing me? Being with me? Why? I don't understand," Healy said. Red took a deep breath. She had anticipated exactly this reaction from him, and she knew that now came the hard part.

"I don't want you to have to take care of me, Sam," she explained.

"But I want to take care of you," he protested.

"I know. And that means the world to me, but that isn't how this is going to work. I can't be anyone's kept woman or little housewife. I'm not going to be a dependent, because that's not how _I_ work."

"You wouldn't be _a dependent_. You'd be…"

"Just like Katya, if I rushed right out of here into your arms and let you do everything for me," she finished.

"You could never be like Katya."

"But it would be the same situation," Red reasoned, "You would have a woman whose survival depended on you, and you would eventually start to wonder, 'Does she stay because she wants to, or because she has to?' I don't want that for us. If I'm with you, I want you to know that it's by choice."

Sam mulled this over. She had a point; he could see the logic, but he still couldn't stomach it. How could Red ever think that what was between them could be even remotely similar to his sham of a marriage? He never doubted that Red _could_ take care of herself. Over the last fourteen years, she had proven time and again that she could survive on her own, under any circumstances. Healy had just intended to see to it that she wouldn't have to.

He glanced over at her, at the determined but still silently pleading look on her face. It was then that he realized her request had less to do with proving to him that she wasn't a gold digger. It was more about Red proving to herself that she was really free, and that she could make it on her own. Going from Litchfield to being financially dependent on him would be, for Red, just a different kind of prison. She didn't need to make him believe that she wouldn't be taking advantage of him; she needed to make herself believe it.

"Okay," Healy said with a sigh, "But I don't like this. At all."

"I'm not asking you to like it. Just to agree to it."

"Fine. But I have some conditions of my own."

"Like what?" she asked, secretly pleased that he was trying to negotiate with her. It made her feel like this was a decision they were making together, rather than something she was imposing on him.

"Five weeks. A month might be too little for you to sort things out, but six is too long. And, if at any time before that you get overwhelmed, if you feel like you're drowning, you reach out to me, and you let me do what I can for you," Healy said.

Red bit her lip, considering this. "Yes," she finally whispered.


	17. Chapter 17

Author's Note: And this is it, folks! For this fic, anyway. The sequel will be out soon, and it'll be named after another Tom Petty song in keeping with my theme, so be on the lookout! Thanks for reading, reviewing, favoriting and following!

Breakdown

Healy stood in the doorway of the rec room, watching Nichols laughing as she tossed a roll of toilet paper up to Vause, who was perched on a ladder held by Chapman.

"Come on, Vause, get it straighter!" Nichols called up to the dark-haired woman, "We gotta make this look nice for Ma."

"She's not my 'ma,'" Vause corrected, trying to straighten the toilet paper garland anyway.

"Whatever; that doesn't mean you need to fuck up her going-away party decorations," the wild-haired girl shot back.

Healy suppressed a chuckle. Normally, he could only barely tolerate Alex Vause, though his dislike of her was, at this point, more a force of habit than anything else. At first, he had resented her because she was a lesbian and because she was leading Chapman off the straight and narrow path. But that was two years ago, and it seemed stupid to Healy at this point. His sessions with his therapist had forced him to explore why he hated lesbians so much, and had shown him that his homophobia was as pointless as it was petty and hateful. Furthermore, in their conversations, Red talked a lot about her 'girls,' many of whom were gay themselves, and Healy felt as though he had gotten to know them through her. Red didn't allow her daughters' sexuality to define how she saw them; she regarded them only as people, vulnerable young women who needed her help and who gave her their loyalty in return. Perhaps, Healy reflected, it was time to take a page out of her book and stop being such a damn dick.

In this spirit, he allowed himself to give Chapman a small smile and a raise of his coffee cup by way of greeting when she looked over and saw him in the doorway.

"You guys having a party for Red?" he asked. Vause ignored him, but Chapman smiled and Nichols nodded.

"Well, the decorations look real good. Good work," he said, before starting off down the hall to his office. He was stopped in his tracks when Morello rounded the corner, gesturing wildly at Red, who was rolling her eyes.

"Lorna, please," the Russian woman said in an exasperated tone, "I left my jacket in the kitchen, it's fucking freezing in the dorms, now let me be on my way. I won't look in the rec room when I pass it." Morello still persisted in her attempts to block Red's way. "I already know what they're doing in there anyway," Red said.

"Well you can borrow my jacket," Morello said. Red scoffed; she had twenty pounds on the slim girl easily; no way was any of Morello's clothing going to fit her. "Come on, let's go back to the bunks. I can help you pack up your stuff to give away tonight," the Jersey girl insisted.

Healy walked up to the two women. "Morello, Red," he greeted.

The younger woman greeted him warmly, as was her way, but Red simply nodded and said, "Healy." He thought he saw the beginnings of a smile on her face, but he had long ago given up expecting it when he met her outside of his office like this. She would never let her mask slide, which was probably for the best, even if it did disappoint him at times.

With a final nod to both women, Healy went into his office. Red turned to Morello, a scowl on her face but her eyes softer. "You want to help me pack my things?" she asked. Morello nodded eagerly. Anything to keep Red away from the rec room. "Fine then. Let's go back to the dorms." Morello squealed in delight and took Red's hand, practically pulling her down the hallway.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was late when Red knocked on Healy's office door, just minutes before lights out. She didn't even know if he would be there, but she did know that she would be devastated if he weren't. Starting tomorrow, she would have to wait five weeks to see him again, and if she didn't say goodbye to him now, then she wouldn't get another chance.

She wanted to go to him earlier, but her entire day had been taken up by her daughters (plus Chapman, whom she had never officially 'adopted' but who had, at some unidentifiable point, decided to shadow her anyway). Even outside of the party that they had thrown her, her girls had been all over her, all day. Red couldn't even take a step without tripping over one of them. She understood it; they were not only losing their mother figure, but also their staunchest defender. Healy had promised to look after them when she left, but it wouldn't be the same and, besides, they had no way of knowing this, because it wasn't like she could tell them. So they clung to her while they still had her. It had been annoying and had kept her away from the person she most wanted to be near, but she had also appreciated it.

Red turned the doorknob, elated to see that the door was unlocked. He was sitting at attention at his desk when she came in, waiting for her as he always did. When her eyes met his, Healy could see that her face was red and puffy, her eyes similarly reddened. She had been crying on and off all day. He stood up from his desk and came to her, putting a hand on her back and leading her to the small sofa, where she immediately melted into his embrace. For a few moments, they just sat in silence, listening to the radio, which was on and was playing "Breakdown" by Tom Petty. The song had always been one of Healy's favorites and, as he held Red and listened to the words, he realized was not an inaccurate description of how he had felt about her at the start of their relationship.

"So," he said, breaking the silence, "Tomorrow."

"Yeah," she replied, her voice thick with emotion, "It feels so stupid to admit that I'm going to miss this place."

"It's not stupid. You spent almost two decades of your life here."

"I know. And it's not even the place. I will definitely not miss this cinderblock shithole. It's the people. I'm going to miss my girls, my Nicky and Norma. And I'm going to miss you." That went without saying, but she knew that Healy needed to hear it.

"I'll miss you, too, _solnyshka_. But it won't be forever. Nicky will be out before you know it, and you can come visit Norma whenever you want. And as for me, well, I'll be waiting for you on the outside, whenever you want me." He was on the verge of asking her to re-think their agreement, begging her not to make him go more than a month without her, but he knew that it wouldn't work and would only make her feel bad. She was right; she needed that time on her own, to get her head back in the real world and try to make something for herself. Healy had made his peace with that, and he refused to torment her about it when she was already vulnerable.

One of her hands had landed on his chest, and her fingers were idly playing with the buttons on his shirt.

"I'm scared, Sam," she admitted, "More than that. I'm terrified."

"Don't be," he said, dropping a quick kiss on the top of her head and inhaling her scent, "You're going to be fine. You'll be more than fine. You're going to be magnificent."

"Well, I'm glad at least one of us thinks so," she said through the fresh tears that were threatening to fall. Suddenly, they both jumped as they were interrupted by Wanda Bell's voice over the PA system.

"Well you left them in the washer again and now they smell like mildew, Scott; it's disgusting," the CO said before realizing that she was on the intercom and then barking, "Lights out, ladies!"

Red couldn't help but snicker, and she felt Healy's chest rumbling beneath her cheek as he laughed, too.

"She's been here five fucking years; you'd think she'd realize when she's on speaker by now," Red said. Then she disengaged herself from Healy's arms and stood up, grabbing one of his hands and hauling him up with her. "I should go to my cube; my last night isn't the best time to get sent to SHU for breaking the rules."

"Probably not," he agreed, not letting go of her hand.

"Kiss me before I go," she demanded, "Give me something to hold me over until I see you again."

Healy obeyed gladly, pulling her in for a kiss that was soft and relatively tame, but still infused with all of the love and sorrow he felt in that moment.

"Remember, Galina," he said when they broke apart, "You have my phone number, you know how to find me. If you need anything, let me know."

She nodded and then pecked his lips again before leaving. Healy went to his window and watched her disappear down the hall. Tomorrow she would be free, and then all that Healy would have would be memories and an agonizing stretch of time spent waiting.


End file.
